


Someday

by blackberrysyrup



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Canon-Typical Violence, College!AU, F/M, Gen Z self-depracating humour, I mean it, Swearing, Wounds, and failing english, but emphasis on the JOKE, it's a nice drawn out sizzle so, like... suicide jokes i guess, mentions of mental health, ned is soft and cares so much for petey, peter is suffering, read at ur own risk, really slow burn, we love a pure friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-08-08 00:17:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16418801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackberrysyrup/pseuds/blackberrysyrup
Summary: Cross Posted on Tumblr! Link in notes!Written for NaNoWriMo 2018━━━━━━━━There are three things you need to know before you read this.1.Most villains did not set out to become the villain.Their intentions are pure. Their hearts are mostly good. But somewhere along the line, the thin tightrope they walk on snaps beneath them. The taste of blood lingers on their tongues. And they crave more.2.Being a superhero and a college student is damn hard.Anyone who says it isn’t can eat shit, honestly. Try majoring in fucking Chemistry joint with Molecular Biology and Biochemistry and being a superhero. Shit’s hard, bro. There’s no time to think about relationships or any of that mundane stuff. But… there might be one exception. Maybe.And lastly, though probably most importantly,3.Peter is failing English.ORIn which Peter struggles to balance life as a college student and life as Spider-Man. He faces many struggles, including but not limited to: a girl, a villain, an ex-girl and her father, an overly protective mentor, and his own mental health. It’s a mess. But it’ll be worth it, maybe.Someday.Or so he hopes.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> i’m so sorry but this is going to be the slowest slow burn in the history of slow burns, maybe ever. hope ya’ll are into pain.  
> here is the masterpost on [tumblr](https://raspberryparker.tumblr.com/post/179427234664/someday-series-collegeau-spidey-x-femreader) if you prefer reading there **(moodboards, playlist and updates a few days earlier — my tumblr peeps get all those cool things so consider following me there pls and thanks)**

   There was nothing Peter could do about the fact that his brain was _literally_ decaying.

   Okay, not literally. He may have had a headache, but he was pretty sure that his brain wasn’t actually rotting. God, he could almost hear Professor Williams correcting him on the use of the word. How insufferable.

   But that was just more proof, further evidence to back up his (very poor) argument. He couldn’t even use words correctly; how could anyone expect him to pass English? There were so many more important things he could have been focusing on.

   Like the fact that that he had finally kind of gotten used to the head rush that came with sitting cross-legged on his ceiling for five hours. He’d been steadily increasing the time he spent up there aimlessly scrolling through his Twitter feed, trying to see how long he could last. It was his own personal experiment of sorts—Peter was a scientist, after all. He had hypothesized that he could only last about three hours at most. But to his surprise he’d managed to go a solid four and a half before he gave out and threw up all over the floor of his dorm, though not before falling into it. His room reeked of bleach and Windex for a week. And after days of hard work and the sheer power of his unrelenting stubbornness, he’d finally managed to go the full five and walk away from it with little more than a headache and seeing a few spots. He wasn’t sure what he could do with this information but he was more than ready to find out.

   Those were the kinds of things that occupied the space in Peter’s mind. That and an innumerable amount of calculus formulas and chemical compounds and on and on and on. If he just started writing all the information he stored in that little Parker brain of his, he’d fill an entire collection of encyclopedias without even trying. Now, with that in mind (feel free to groan at that awful joke), did it seem reasonable that he should pay any attention to try and compare two completely different plays from an era that should no longer concern anyone in this day and age on their employment of dramatic irony?

  If one were as sane as Peter—although he could almost guarantee his sanity was diminishing by the day—they would undoubtedly agree with him when he said absolutely not. But frankly, it wasn’t up to him.

   And so that was how Ned found him: cross-legged on the ceiling, with his back against the wall above his bed, his face as bright as a ripe tomato and with a worried expression that seemed to be carved in stone. But he had every right to freak out. He was failing English.

   “You know, that’s not gonna help.”

   Ned dropped his bag on the floor next to the spot on the carpet that was whiter than the rest, and then fell back onto Peter’s bed with a soft grunt, folding his arms under the pillow behind his head and gazing up at his best friend’s face about a foot above him.

   “Nothing helps,” Peter groaned, unfolding his legs and stretching them out along the ceiling, the rough surface catching softly on the denim. “You know, I’ve come to think that maybe ending it all might be my only option.”

   “Oh yeah, you could do that,” Ned mused, feigning deep thought. “But then who’d take over for the one and only web-slinger?”

   “God, I hate it when you have a point.”

   As if he actually considered it, even for a second. If there was anything more unbearable to Peter than trying to write about anything even remotely related to his English course, it was the thought of not being around to be the friendly neighbourhood super hero he’d promised to be. He had a city to protect. But it was also a long running joke between them that Peter would one day swing up high over the streets of New York and then neglect to catch himself on the way down. He couldn’t remember when it started.

   Peter stood then, stepping a few paces to his left in order to drop off the ceiling without landing on Ned, and with a quick flip he was on the proper side of the world where the normal people were. His head throbbed, all the warmth that had gathered there beginning to flow back down to where it was supposed to be and the pressure behind his eyes subsiding. He glanced at Ned, who had closed his eyes and looked rather peaceful on Peter’s unmade, messy sheets.

   “So have you thought about what you’re actually gonna do?” he questioned.

   Peter sighed. “Nothing. That’s what I’m gonna do.”

   Ned sat up then, looking at him incredulously as if he’d just told him that there were vines sprouting from his ears. “Dude, you gotta do something.”

   “Says who?”

   “Says the school. You know English is mandatory, right? They won’t let you enroll next semester if you don’t pass.”

   “So I’ve been told.”

   Peter peeked at the clock on the small desk across the room, and though it was almost completely obscured by loose papers and notebooks that he never thought to put away, he still saw the bright green block numbers displaying the time. 4:43 PM. Nearly time to go.

   As he rummaged through his school bag looking for the new prototype webbing cartridges he’d designed, he felt Ned’s gaze on him from the way the hairs at the base of his neck stood on end. The feeling that Ned wanted to say something but couldn’t bring himself to was making the air around Peter palpable. He felt the tension on his skin, eyes nearly watering at the way it stung the inside of his nostrils and he detested the way it made his mouth feel like it was stuffed with cotton balls. Though his heightened senses saved him from getting killed on a nearly daily basis, they always seemed to act up at really, really inopportune moments. Such as this one.

   He felt Ned’s words before he heard them.

   “Do you need help?”

   Peter frowned, his brows coming together. “What, like a tutor?”

   “Yeah, or something like that,” Ned replied. “I’m asking because I know someone, you know, if you ever manage to swallow your pride and accept the fact that you can’t get out of this by yourself.”

   “Ouch.”

   “I believe this is what the kids call ‘tough love’.”

   Ned looked at him for a long time. Now that he was right side up it was easy to pinpoint all the warning signs that there was something terribly wrong. The bags under Peter’s eyes had always been there; those dark crescent moons etched into the creases there by many nights spent swinging through the streets of the bustling city, stopping crime whenever it had the audacity to crop up, had become a permanent feature on his face. But there was something else, something far more concerning in the way his shoulders stayed perpetually close to his ears, an undeniable tension tugging his entire frame upward as if he was being pulled up by a tight string.

   And when he turned to face Ned once more, the crease between his brows that had been there since he’d been sitting on the ceiling was still present, if not more prominent. He was only nineteen, but Peter was going to end up with wrinkles soon if he didn’t stop frowning all the damn time.

   “I’m worried about you.”

   His expression softened, his features relaxing at his friend’s words. “I know.”

   “You look like shit,” Ned continued, though his tone held the same care.

   “I know.”

   “You’re so frustrating.”

   Peter smiled, plucking the mask of his suit off his desk and flipping it so it was facing the right way again, hiding the circuits and wires that lined nearly the entirety of the fabric. He brushed his arm across the desk, clearing space and knocking papers, books, pencils, rolls of solder and even a sock to the floor in the process. If looking at him wasn’t proof enough that something had been troubling him, then one only needed to step into the catastrophe that was his dorm. But to be fair, did anyone keep their dorm sparkling? He didn’t think so.

   He fished the red and blue suit out of the top right corner of his small closet and smoothed it over the area he’d cleared of clutter. Ned watched as he carefully slipped the cartridges into their holders at the hip.

   “I’m serious though,” he pressed on, not missing the way Peter’s ears twitched in annoyance. “I’ve got a friend who could help you.”

   “I barely have money to buy food, Ned,” Peter sighed. “I seriously doubt I’d be able to afford a tutor.”

   “She owes me a favour anyway. She wouldn’t make you pay.”

   He turned back to face Ned, eyebrows raised. “What makes you think she’d even be willing to help me?”

   “Oh, please.” With a roll of his eyes, Ned reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone, scrolling through what Peter could only assume was his contact list. “Would I even be friends with someone that cold hearted?”

   “I don’t know, last time I checked we were still friends with MJ.”

   “She’d punch you if she heard that.”

   “Countin’ on it.”

   He held up the suit by the shoulders then, the baggy material looking drab and uninteresting and frankly kind of ridiculous. Throwing it on the bed at Ned’s feet, he tugged the hem of his ESU hoodie up and over his head, his t-shirt and pants coming off shortly after. He discarded the clothes on his floor with little regard as to where they ended up. Ned moved around him as Peter tugged on the loose suit. He set up his laptop on the desk and pulled a textbook out of his backpack. This part of their routine was easy, comfortable even. It had integrated itself into their lives just as easily as everything else did.

   Peter tapped the spider emblem on his chest, sucking in a quick breath as the material of the suit formed to his body and hugged his limbs. He turned to grab the mask but found Ned already holding it out to him, a worried expression on his face.

   He took it carefully. “Thanks.”

   Ned only nodded, swivelling around in Peter’s desk chair and opening up the textbook he’d placed next to the laptop. Something was off and it was making Peter’s skin crawl more than usual. He looked carefully at the back of Ned’s head, his words only being held back by his teeth and his tight jaw. If he opened his mouth, there would be no stopping. But what the hell, right? Ned was his best friend.

   “Give her a call,” he said finally, and Ned turned to him with a smile. “If you think it’ll help, I don’t see why I shouldn’t try.”

   “I hope you know I’m doing this for your own good,” he grinned, pulling his phone out again and looking for her contact.

   “Yeah.”

   Peter would always admire just how much his best friend had matured since sophomore year. Sure he still geeked out over Star Wars and comic books (but then again, so did Peter) but there was no doubt in his mind that Ned had simply… grown. As person, as a best friend, as his guy in the chair; Ned went from nervously helping Peter with whatever ridiculous idea he’d had that week to either fully supporting him or calling him a fucking idiot when he was being one. Ned was the one person he could always count on to be there for him.

   “Hey,” he called, his foot on the windowsill and hand gripping the frame, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. “You’re here if I need you, right?”

   Ned smiled, tucking his earbuds in and firing up the laptop. “Yeah, always.”

   Peter grinned back, slipping on the mask and throwing up a peace sign before he jumped out the window of his dorm. Luckily, his dorm only faced an alley between the residences and no one was around to see him crawling up the side of the brick.

   When he reached the rooftop, he sat for a moment admiring the autumn sunset, the warm orange hues washing the city with vibrant yet calm energy. Though he knew that this was but a mirage, and New York was nothing if not a complete disaster, he couldn’t help but think of a city at peace. Maybe one day he’d accomplish it, and hang up the webs one last time. But he doubted it’d come any time soon.

   “Pete?”

   “Yeah?”

   Ned’s voice was soft through the comm system, and Peter could almost hear the frown on his face. “Be careful, yeah?”

   Peter grinned, his heads up display focusing and zooming in on a group of men standing near the edge of Washington Square Park, a scared looking girl at their feet and trying desperately to back away on her hands. Why were they always stupid enough to assault someone in broad daylight in the middle of a park? They were almost begging for a beating.

   He webbed his backpack to a wall in the alleyway below him, then shot a web at the next roof over and pulled himself forward, landing gracefully on the balls of his feet and using the momentum to launch himself into the air. His head buzzed with the rush of air whizzing past his ears. He flipped once, twice, then landed in a crouch in front of the girl, fingertips on the ground with one arm extended to the side to help his balance, shielding her from the attackers. He could’ve sworn they could see his smirk through the mask, because their faces paled comically.

   “Always am.”

 

* * *

 

   “Hello?”

   “Listen, you know that favour you owe me? Yeah, I’d like to cash that in now.”

   “Oh I’m great, Ned, thanks for asking. How are you?”

   “Y/N….” Ned whined, dragging out the last syllable. “It’s important.”

   Y/N laughed, switching her cell phone from her right ear to her left, and pressing it in place with her shoulder as she poured herself a cup of coffee. She finally felt that she had room to breathe now that midterms were over and she had the weekend off from work. The library staff room was warm and cozy despite the chilly November weather, so all she really wanted to do was sit down on the couch with one of the new fiction arrivals that she’d unpacked that afternoon for a good little while, but she’d been interrupted when her phone rang.

   The strong yet comfortable smell of bitter black coffee filled the small room, and she watched as the cream she poured into her mug swirled and mixed with the dark liquid. “Alright, alright. What’s up?”

   She was so positive of the fact that Ned was beaming that she would have bet everything she had on it, and when he spoke she could see his silly smile in her mind’s eye.

   “Okay, so, you remember Peter, right?” Ned asked, and Y/N frowned as she opened the fridge door to put the cream back.

   “Haven’t met him but you’ve told me about him,” she said. “Childhood best friend or something, right?”

   “The one and only. Anyway he’s kind of in a tight spot right now.”

   “How so?”

   “He’s failing English.”

   Y/N smiled knowingly then, settling down on the rather ugly but still surprisingly soft beige couch in the centre of the room, the bright blue mug in her hands warming her to the bone. She knew instantly what the phone call was about and what Ned was going to ask of her, yet she feigned ignorance. Why? For her own amusement, she supposed.

   “And you called me because…?”

   “You’ve been talking about wanting to tutor people on the side… right? But I figured you might want to test how comfortable you are doing it before you start charging people.”

   “And you’re suggesting that Peter would be my guinea pig?”

   “…Yes, in a way.”

   “Is he okay with that?” she asked, setting her phone down on the small foot table in front of her and putting the phone on speaker. She was all alone in the staff room, and there were only a handful of students and two other staff members in the building at the moment so she wouldn’t need to worry about disturbing anyone. That, and her neck was starting to ache.

   Ned’s sigh confirmed her suspicions, that he had somehow convinced Peter into agreeing to being tutored even though he didn’t want to. She wasn’t sure why, but Y/N felt her stomach tug at the thought. But that was ridiculous—she didn’t even know the kid.

   “I kinda had to beg him,” he admitted rather sheepishly. “He’s just… so stubborn and it- it’s infuriating. They’re not gonna let him back next semester if he doesn’t pass this time because he failed both times last year but honestly, I feel like he doesn’t even care.”

   “Hmm.” Y/N knew the type of person Peter was just from the little information Ned had just shared with her. He was headstrong and stubborn, but only made time for things he enjoyed and had genuine interest in, which evidently did not include English. “What’s he studying right now?”

   “Double major in Chemistry, and Molecular Biology and Biochemistry.”

   “Jesus. That gave me a headache.”

   “I know, gross, right? I always told him he should’ve done Com-Sci like me, and maybe he’d be less stressed, but he never listens to me. He’s actually the smartest person I know when he wants to be, but when he doesn’t…”

   “Yeah, I get it,” she sighed. “Well, I’m free all weekend if he wants to meet up at the library. I was gonna stay far away from this place since I have a few days off, but I’m afraid I can’t abandon my books for too long anyway.”

   “You have no idea how much this means to us, Y/N,” Ned sighed. “Thank you.”

   “Yeah, yeah,” she grinned, mostly to herself though since no one could see her. “I feel like this is more important to you than it is to him, though.”

   “That makes two of us. Hey, can I give him your number?”

   “Sure, go ahead. Tell him to text me, yeah?”

   “He will. And if he doesn’t, I’ll make him.”

   Y/N giggled at that, sipping on her coffee and relishing in the warmth that slid down her throat. She dreaded leaving the library and stepping into the cold autumn air. She wanted to stay holed up on that couch forever. “Alright, dude, I gotta go. I’ll never leave if I stay here any longer and I still have to read a couple chapters of a new book tonight.”

   “Yeah, for sure. I’ll see you around this week?”

   “My door’s always open for you,” she smiled, knowing that Ned’s dorm room was only a few floors below hers and he’d often pop by to visit her while she studied. “See ya.”

   “Bye, my guy.”

   Y/N wondered if everyone felt that odd silence after hanging up a phone call, that lingering stillness that felt a little too quiet, especially when she was alone. It made the skin of her arms prickle with goosebumps and she shivered, putting her things back into her backpack and tugging it onto her shoulder. Quickly knocking back the rest of her coffee, she grabbed her scarf off the hook on the wall and laid it lazily around her neck once, still too warm inside the building to put it on properly.

   As she stepped out of the staff room, the warm atmosphere of the library engulfed her once more and she smiled as she stepped toward the main desk. Carol, her boss and the school’s head librarian, was typing away at the computer and busy signing out a laptop to a student. Y/N slid behind the desk, grabbing a copy of the new book she wanted to read and began to sign it out to herself on one of the unoccupied desktops as Carol thanked the student and let him know that he needed to bring the laptop back by the following evening. When she was done, she glanced at Y/N with a smile.

   “Oh, tell me how that one is,” she said when she saw the book. “It caught my eye but I’m not sure if I’ll have time to read it. If it’s a worthwhile read, however, I’ll make time.”

   “Will do.”

   Carol was a kind woman, who looked so stereotypically like a librarian it almost made Y/N laugh when they’d met. Her greying auburn hair was always tied into a tight knot on her head, and her wire-framed glasses were always slipping too far down her nose. She wore cardigans and capris pants almost everyday, and Y/N was pretty sure she only owned one pair of beige shoes. But she was caring and sweet, never shushing anyone when they laughed too loudly or if they swore when they dropped a particularly heavy encyclopedia on their foot. She was one of the main reasons Y/N liked her job so much and never said no when Carol asked her to come in a little bit early or stay a little while longer. She was practically her second mother, and the library was her home away from home.

   “I’ll see you on Monday, dear?” Carol asked as Y/N picked up her shoulder bag.

   “No, actually,” she grinned. “I’ll see you this weekend.”

   “Oh?”

   “Yeah.” She looked at her Converse clad feet and the fraying bottom of her pant legs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m tutoring a friend of a friend as a favour. He’s failing English and, you know me- I have an obligation to make everyone enjoy literature.”

   “You and I both,” Carol smiled, the crinkles on the outside corners of her eyes folding and making her look like a sweet grandmother (she totally was sweet, though a grandmother only to her cat’s kittens, perhaps). “I do hope you go out and enjoy yourself this weekend, though. Every time I see you, you have your nose stuck in a book. And you know I do encourage that but you should really stretch your legs, go out and have some fun.”

   “I find reading very fun,” Y/N smiled, tucking the book into her bag.

   “Oh, I’m well aware.”

   She turned, walking backwards toward the library doors so she could wave to Carol. “See you soon then!”

   “I’ll be here, as always,” Carol grinned.

   It was dark when she stepped out of the building, the cold air hitting her like a wall and chilling her to her very core. She hugged her school hoodie around herself, tugging her scarf tighter and tucking it into the collar. The only downfall of studying at Empire State was that since the campus was in the centre of Greenwich, it was spread out over quite a few blocks. It would be a fifteen minute walk back to her dorm building, even if she cut through the park. So Y/N tucked in her earbuds and set off, stuffing her hands into the soft pocket of her hoodie and trying to keep as warm as possible.

   By the time she arrived to her building on 7th Avenue, her fingers were numb as she held the keycard over the sensor. She was sure her nose looked like a cherry tomato with how cold it’d gotten on the walk. Making a mental note to buy herself a pair of mittens for the upcoming winter, she stepped into the elevator and hit the button for the sixth floor. She estimated it to be a little past 10 PM, considering her shift ended at 9:30 and she’d spent some time talking to both Ned and Carol before she left. But luckily, that meant there would be nobody in the common room.

   Setting her bag down on the couch in her floor’s common lounge area, she took out the lunch she’d forgotten to eat and sat down with her book resting on her knees and her sandwich in her lap.

   She’d spent so many nights this way, it almost became routine for her now. She nestled into her usual corner, facing the glass walls that allowed her to see out into the hallway and took a bite of her food as she turned to chapter one. She yawned, already used to feeling tired after work and figuring that a good book would help her relax.

   And relax she did.

   Y/N was unsure just how much time had passed when she woke with a start, her book clattering to the ground next to her with the movement of her body.

   “Shit,” she muttered, picking it up and making sure that no pages had bent when it hit the ground. She glanced at the clock on the wall. 4:07 AM. God, had she really been there for that long? There was a kink in her neck where it had lolled back in her sleep, and she rubbed it as she took in her surroundings. It seemed like no one had been in the room since she’d arrived.

   It wasn’t until she looked up, however, that she really startled.

   There, in the hallway on the other side of the glass, frozen like a deer caught in headlights, stood a boy who looked like he’d been beaten within an inch of his life.

   Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as they gazed at each other, both equally shocked. It was then that she realized that it was the sound of him almost falling flat on his face, but catching himself against a wall with a sharp, pained shout before he landed that woke her up. He was still gripping the wall, knuckles white with the sheer force of his grasp, his other arm clutched around his ribs. Neither of them expected the other to be there.

   He looked like he’d been hit by a bus. Or maybe hit by a bus, but then the bus turned around and drove over him another three or four times for good measure. One of his eyes was swollen shut, the skin around and under it beaten blue and purple, and yellowing at the edges. The blood from his crooked nose dripped onto his mouth and chin, down his neck and staining the collar of his t-shirt, which had some ridiculous math pun on it that Y/N would have rolled her eyes at if she hadn’t been so shocked by the state of him. His arms were littered with what looked like bruises in the form of fingers, as if someone had grabbed him and thrown him around. There were cuts and bruises all over the rest of his face, and his short brown hair stuck up at an odd angle as if he’d just taken off a beanie. He wore a backpack that looked like it was one throw to the ground away from ripping at the seams and, for whatever reason, he wasn’t wearing shoes.

   They both sat in silence until he looked away, his shocked eyes then taking on a droopy, tired expression as he limped down the hall, his hand still supporting almost the entire weight of his body against the wall. His bare feet dragged against the hall floor, leaving dirt and blood behind on the linoleum. Y/N choked on her breath as she exhaled, not having noticed that she’d even been holding it.

   What the fuck? What the _fuck_?

   She scrambled to her feet, the book now long forgotten as it fell to the floor once again, and she fumbled with the doorknob as it slipped in her sweaty palms. When she finally got the door open, she stared down the hallway in the direction he’d gone, but she was met with nothing but an empty corridor.

   Where could he possibly have gone that fast?

   She stepped carefully and quietly, making sure to keep her footfalls as light as possible, as she walked in the direction she’d seen him go. She passed each door, looking for any sign that he might have been there, when finally she stopped in front of one with blood on the silver handle. Glancing up at the name tag that adorned every door, Y/N swallowed the dry lump in her throat and her eyes widened as she took in the name.

 _Peter P_.

   Oh dear God. What the hell did she just herself into?


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> peter got hurt and y/n thinks he's a criminal lol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so i'm copy and pasting this off tumblr so if there are formatting issues i'll probably notice them eventually and fix them but i wanted to get this out there... thanks for the lovely comments i received on the first part! you guys are why i do this <3

   It seemed to Peter that his headache had been and would continue to be a constant in his life from that point forward.

   Everything hurt. Even his back, where the soft material of his mattress was pressed against him, ached uncomfortably.

   He’d stumbled hastily into his room after being spotted by the girl in the common room, exerting himself far too much in order to make it before she followed after him. He’d pressed his forehead against the door and heard her walk down the hall. He almost cursed when she stopped in front of his door, but he held his breath and waited it out.

   When she walked away after what seemed like ages, he’d fallen lazily onto his bed with a sharp groan and there he’d remained until well after the sun rose.

   He didn’t dare move a muscle in fear that the pain would rip through him once more, so he stayed motionless until Ned inevitably came looking for him. That was something he was not looking forward to.

   “What the fuck happened?!”

   Although Ned’s voice was hushed as he entered Peter’s dorm, it still held the familiar sharp bite that he would encounter whenever he did something stupid that Ned didn’t agree with. It was still early morning, and that meant most of the other residents in the building were asleep or getting ready to go to their morning lectures. Considering the walls of the building seemed to be made from one-ply toilet paper (two-ply on good days, but it was still shitty), nothing happened in the residence without everyone else knowing about it. Ned was trying to keep his voice down, but his concern shone through.

   “Nothing good,” Peter groaned, shifting in an attempt to try and sit up.

   The movement made his ribs burn. A white hot pain blossomed behind his bones and made them feel like dry sticks rubbing against each other, sparking his muscles and setting his nerves ablaze. He honestly didn’t think it was that bad, but he had been lying still on his bed for at least four hours trying to ignore the ache.

   “Shit,” Ned muttered, holding a hand to his shoulder and stopping his movements. “Don’t do that. You’ll make it worse. I go to bed at two in the morning, like a normal person does on a school night, and you go and almost die.”

   “I’m fine,” Peter insisted. He managed to sit all the way up against the wall at the head of his bed, despite the troubled look on Ned’s face. He groaned when he settled, though if it was out of relief or further agony, he couldn’t tell. “I’ll be good in a couple hours.”

   “I know you heal faster than most people, but that doesn’t mean you can just let yourself get beaten to a pulp, dude. Your body has a limit, just like everyone else.” Peter’s brows furrowed as he looked at Ned, who continued, “Granted, it’s a limit way past everyone else’s, but you’ve still got one.”

   “I don’t know what happened,” he sighed, pressing a palm to his face. There was still blood crusted under his nose and over his lips.

   He tried scratching it away with his fingers, but Ned noticed and stopped him. He slid his backpack off his shoulders, dropping it onto the floor and reaching into it. He pulled out a bottle of water, and rummaged through Peter’s dresser until he found a wash cloth that was actually clean. Uncapping the bottle and pouring a substantial amount of water on the cloth, he handed it to his incredibly dumb best friend. Peter tried to smile but it was hard. It felt like he was wearing a really nasty face mask.

   “Thanks.”

   “The sooner you wipe that mess off, the sooner we can assess the damage.”

   His skin stung as he wiped at his face with the cloth, the cuts on his lip and nose making him hiss as he cleaned them. He had no doubt his nose was broken again (this would be the third- no, fourth time, and counting) and the splitting headache that made his skull feel like it was being pounded against by Mjölnir itself was evidence enough of a mild concussion. Also, Ned and the rest of his room was kind of spinning, but if he mentioned that, he’d get lectured on being an idiot. Again.

   When he was done, he pressed the cold cloth against his swollen eye. It wasn’t forced shut anymore but it hurt to blink, so he kept it closed regardless.

   “Okay, lemme see,” Ned sighed, kneeling next to his bed and moving his arm away from his face to get a closer look. He frowned when Peter breathed in sharply between his teeth.

   “Your nose is broken again,” he said, and Peter nodded. Ned took this as a sign to continue. “Your eye looks fine, just bruised, and you split your lip in… three places, but it doesn’t look like you need stitches.”

   “I hurt my ribs too,” Peter informed him, lifting the left side of his shirt up to reveal the flowering bruises forming there.

   “Holy fuck,” Ned gasped quietly as he took in the sight before him.

   The entire left side of Peter’s chest was a strange blue-ish, purple colour, becoming more concentrated and darker where one could only assume the serious damage to be. Ned lowered his hand carefully, merely brushing the skin with the pads of his fingers, but even that ghost of a touch had Peter flinching pack and his abdomen tensing in pain.

   “A-are they broken?” Ned asked, eyes wide as his friend tried to regain his composure.

   “Don’t think so,” Peter groaned. “Just… really messed up.”

   “What happened?”

   Peter met Ned’s eyes, wide and full of concern for him, and he sighed. “I… I really don’t know. Hammerhead was there. He seemed mad. Started yelling about his territory and ‘trespassing scumbags’ or something. Makes me think that the Maggia might be up to something again.”

   Ned frowned at that, sitting back on his legs to listen to the rest of the encounter. The last time Peter tried to take down the Maggia did not go well. At all.

   “But he was too mad for it to be that. He went crazy— started going on a murder rampage against his own men. I tried to reel him in but that bastard is strong. He threw me around some before he stomped off, calling me a waste of time.” He looked up at the ceiling, his head spinning. “Something set him off. Something or someone pissed him off enough to make him literally blind with rage. He killed about ten of his own guys before the rest ran off. And I guess anger makes him more relentless… he almost didn’t stop hitting me.”

   He said the last part with an amused smile, turning back to face Ned, but it dropped as soon as he saw the worried expression on his best friend’s face. Ned’s skin had gone ghostly, all the colour drained from it as he had listened to what happened. Peter reached out his right hand, resting it on Ned’s shoulder.

   “Why aren’t you in the suit?” Ned asked.

   Peter pointed to the backpack he’d thrown aside when he got back. “I always bring a change of clothes with me. I was too hurt to swing through the window or climb up the wall so I changed just in case and took the elevator. Didn’t have any shoes, though.”

   Ned was still frowning, and Peter sighed.

   “I’m okay now,” he assured him. “And I won’t go after him for a while. I was gonna spend some time just figuring out what the hell is going on before I try to do anything about it, anyway. Can you help me with that?”

   Ned jerked back, frowning. “Not until you’ve fully recovered.”

   “Okay,” Peter smiled.

   “And I have another condition,” he continued.

   He stood as Peter’s brows came together in confusion, ready to hear whatever it was that Ned was about to propose to him. He reached for Peter’s phone on the desk, unlocking it and typing into it quickly. This wasn’t really a problem, they went on each other’s phones all the time, so he was more curious than concerned as to what Ned was doing.

   When he seemed to be done, he handed it to Peter, a text conversation to a number he didn’t recognize ready to be started.

   “What is this?” he asked.

   “My friend agreed to tutor you,” Ned explained. “My condition for helping you, after you’ve finished healing, is that you meet with her at least a few times a week and seriously try to improve your grade. I don’t even want to think about what would happen if May or Mr. Stark found out you were failing. You’re gonna get the suit taken away again, and I do not want to deal with your complaining.”

   Peter watched the blinking text cursor in the empty message slot, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth. He caught one of the cuts and tasted fresh blood, wincing a little at the sting. What would he even say?

   He looked up at Ned. “Okay.”

   “She’s really nice,” the other boy continued. “Double major in English and History, and she works at the library. I think if anyone can help you, she’s the person for the job.”

   “How do you know her?”

   “She’s from out of state and got lost during first year orientation, so she asked me for help. I went with her ‘cause I was going the same way and we talked and stuff, and then I started seeing her around campus and in the library so we just hung out. She’s cool, you’ll like her.”

   Peter had no doubt that he would. If Ned liked her then he would as well. Maybe they’d even introduce her to MJ, make her a new addition to their small group. The thought brought a smile to his face.

   “So you’ll do it?” Ned questioned. He was looking at Peter so expectantly and with eyes so full of hope that Peter found himself unable to say no.

   “Yeah, I’ll do it.”

   “Cool, text her now then.”

   “How do you know she’s up?” Peter asked.

   Ned shrugged. “Stopped by her room this morning on my way here. Though I probably shouldn’t have, considering how shitty you look. Should have got here sooner.”

   “Wait, she lives here?”

   “Yeah, dude,” Ned said, looking a little confused. “I told you she’s from out of state, where did you expect her to be living?”

   “Good point,” he agreed.

   “She lives just down the hall from you, actually. I’m sure she’d let you go over there if you’re having trouble with homework or something.”

   Once again, he found himself staring at the blinking cursor that seemed to be almost making fun of him. He still had no idea what he was going to say.

   As Ned busied himself with cleaning up the mess in the room, picking up the bloodied wash cloth and taking it to the bathroom down the hall to rinse it out, Peter continued to overthink the text he hadn’t even written yet.

   Would it be too weird to just say, ‘Hey, I’m Peter, you don’t know me but you agreed to help my sorry ass and save me from failing, when do you want to meet up’? Yeah, he thought it would be. But what else would he say? He didn’t know anything about this girl other than the fact that Ned was their mutual friend and that she worked at the library. He always hated texting people who weren’t his friends (or Happy, for that matter) because he’d grow anxious about his messages and overthink what he said way too much. It wasn’t even that serious; it was just a text, but Peter would often find his palms growing sweaty and his heart beating a little too fast whenever he sent one.

   He mustered up the courage, however, and typed one out, hitting send before he could change his mind.

_hey, it’s peter. ned gave me ur number and he said u would help tutor me? thanks so much for that, but i wouldn’t want to be a burden so it’s okay if u can’t. do u want to meet up this weekend?_

   Ned came back in after Peter had hit send, the cloth no longer stained red and with a fresh bottle of water that he’d filled at the fountain in the common room. The pain had started subsiding and his head no longer hurt, so Peter swung his legs over the edge of his bed and stood. There was still an ache in his ribs but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been. Taking one look at himself in the mirror, he decided that a shower was first on his list of things to do.

   “Did you text her?” Ned asked.

   Peter nodded, turning to grab his towel and shower caddy that held his toiletries.

   “Good.” Ned pulled his phone out of his pocket, glancing at the time. He pulled the door open, stepping out. “Shit, I gotta go. Gonna be late for my lecture. Let me know how it goes, okay?”

   “Okay,” Peter smiled, watching as Ned waved goodbye from the hallway. When the door clicked shut behind him, Peter’s smile fell.

   It wasn’t that he wasn’t looking forward to meeting this girl (but okay, it was partly that), it was that he was worried that she would think he was stupid or something. When Ned had mentioned that she was double majoring in English and History, his stomach had dropped with a dead weight that Peter recognized all too well as anxiety. She was going to take one look at him and think he was an idiot, because at this point he really believed that he was, and she wouldn’t help him anymore. He was probably beyond help anyway. It wasn’t his fault that his brain worked solely in a logical manner. Abstract concepts that were taught in English courses made no sense to him whatsoever. He just didn’t see the reasoning behind saying something was one thing when in reality it was another just for the sake of comparison, for example. He didn’t get it.

   He was about to step out into the hallway, planning to scurry quickly to the    showers in the hopes no one saw him bloodied and bruised and stopped to ask any questions, when his phone chimed in his back pocket.

   He swallowed thickly, his throat suddenly going dry as he read the notification.

_Hi Peter! I’m Y/N! I have the whole weekend off from work so we could meet today if you want to. I’ll be in the library, second floor by the historical fiction section at noon if you wanna stop by. Can’t wait to meet you!_

   Holy shit. He was going to die.

 

* * *

 

   This was probably a bad idea.

   As hard as she tried, Y/N could not will her leg to stop bouncing underneath the small library work table. She wasn’t sure if she was nervous or scared or a strange mix of both, but the thought of meeting Peter now made her breath catch in her throat. She glanced at her phone sitting idly on the tabletop. He was late. But then again, after the previous night, she couldn’t say she expected much.

   She’d hardly been able to sleep, tossing and turning on her sheets with only one thing on her mind: what the hell happened to him? For all she knew, he could have been a criminal. How else would she be able to explain the state the boy was in? It seemed a pretty logical explanation to her; people don’t usually sneak back into their dorms all beat and cut up if they’re doing things that are perfectly legal. When Ned had stopped by her room that morning to say hello, she had already been wide awake, having given up on getting a good night’s rest. She’d been so close to asking him about it, seeing if he knew just what Peter was doing. But if he didn’t know… Y/N couldn’t bring herself to be the one to break the news to him if that was case. She knew Ned was the worrying type and if Peter hadn’t died that night then the wrath of Ned just might have finished the job. All morning, what seemed to be a million questions had rattled around her mind; what was he doing out at four in the morning? Why did he look like he’d had a very unpleasant run in with a bear? Was he okay? Was he seriously injured? He looked like he’d been limping but Y/N could hardly remember anymore. She’d replayed the moment in her mind’s eye so many times it all seemed blurry and out of reach now.

   And then he’d texted her.

   She was unsure of just how she felt when her phone buzzed that morning, whether she was glad he was okay or worried that she’d somehow get involved in all of it if she agreed to tutor him. She found the fact that he didn’t want to be a burden on her endearing, but it wasn’t enough to counteract the anxiety that came with the thought of meeting up with him. But it had to be done.

   She’d shakily typed out her response, one that definitely had too many exclamation marks, but she had wanted to appear as trusting as possible. Peter didn’t seem to realize that the girl that was going to be helping him with his English coursework was the same girl who might have just uncovered his darkest secret, and she wanted to keep it that way until the last possible moment.

   Which also meant they were both in for a very awkward encounter that was steadily encroaching upon them.

   She jolted in her seat when her phone buzzed loudly against the table, and she picked it up far too quickly. To anyone watching, this would definitely have been suspicious. She let out a breath when she read the notification.

   It was Peter.

_hey so i just realized that idk what u look like so can u describe where u are to me so i can find u?_

   Her heart thumped in her chest as she responded.

_I’m next to the biggest window on the east side of the building, kind of near the back under the sign that says historical fiction._

   She jumped again when her phone went off. Why was she so on edge?

_cool thanks_

   And now the wait.

   Y/N couldn’t tell which was worse: waiting for him without knowing when he’d arrive, or knowing that he was so close that he could appear in front of her at any minute. She decided it was the latter and continued her nervous leg bouncing as she peered out the window and looked at the multitude of students bustling through the Quad. Fridays weren’t as busy on campus, but there were still quite a few people around. A quiet buzz of chatter hung in the air of the library, but it wasn’t overwhelming to the point where one couldn’t concentrate. It was essentially white noise, which she enjoyed for when she tried to read or study.

   “Y/N?”

   She was yanked from her thoughts with the force of her own movement as she whipped around to face the voice, trying to swallow the dryness in her mouth down. She gazed up at the source and found Peter walking towards her, looking far healthier than he did when she had first seen him and with a small smile on his face.

   “Sorry, I’m late, it took longer to get here than I thought it… would…”

   There was a number of words Y/N could use to describe the look on Peter’s face in that moment, including but not limited to: realization, shock, bewilderment, confusion, astonishment, befuddlement, perplexion, and many more. She had yet to pick one that fit best.

   His large dark eyes grew even larger as they widened, his split mouth falling open and jaw hanging dumbly as he lost all words. He nearly dropped the skateboard he had tucked under his arm, quickly catching the edge of the deck before it hit the ground. His brows furrowed but his eyes remained wide, making him look like a confused bunny.

   “H-Hey.”

   It was more of a breath than a word, really. An exhalation, if you will. He seemed to have trouble finding the will to speak, because he stood there shell-shocked (add that to the list) just looking at her.

   “Hi,” Y/N responded equally as quietly, not wanting to scare him away. But why? Shouldn’t she be the one scared? “Glad to see you’re looking better.”

   And he was. Which was really odd.

   The cuts on his lips and nose had already begun to seal up, the little scabs there slowly falling off on their own. His eye was not swollen  _at all_  anymore, just blue with some yellow near his temple, and she could have sworn his nose wasn’t as crooked as she remembered it being. He hadn’t been limping when he’d approached either, and he wasn’t clutching his ribs anymore, which led her to believe that nothing had even been wrong. She’d even go as far as to guess that he rode the skateboard to the library, which would have been impossible being as wounded as he had been that morning. The bruises on his arms were already fading to a pale purple, and they looked like they’d be completely gone within a couple hours.

   If one were to just look at him, they might have assumed he’d just taken a nasty punch to the face or maybe walked into a pole.

   Which begged the question, how in the  _absolute Hell_  had he managed to recover so damn quickly?

   It was… strange, to say the least.

   “Y-yeah,” he said. “Thanks.”

   Trying to make the conversation as tension-free as possible, she gestured to the seat across from her, urging him to sit.

   He moved at a sluggish pace, reluctantly breaking eye contact with her as he pulled the seat out. He settled into it, placing his backpack and skateboard down on the ground next to him, but he looked uncomfortable as he sat stiff as a board and as tense as a bowstring. He pointed his jaw downward but he kept his eyes on her, looking up at her through surprisingly long lashes that made Y/N only a little jealous. He seemed almost as anxious as she felt.

   “How are you?” she asked.

   Really?  _How are you_? She thought she was trying to make this  _less_ awkward.

   “I’m… better,” he muttered, his gaze flickering to the table briefly.

   “Good, good.” Y/N looked at her hands folded in her lap, her fingers tugging at the hem of her hoodie. She’d barely given a second thought to her appearance that day, throwing on the same hoodie from the night before and a pair of jeans before she left her room. She probably looked like as much of a wreck as she felt.

   She hadn’t had a chance to really look at Peter that morning because of all the blood and the discolouration of his skin, but now that he was sitting across from her and somewhat healed, she was finally able to take in the sight of him.

   Y/N wasn’t going to say that he wasn’t attractive, because he was, even with a scabbing lip, a broken nose, and a black eye. She took in the curve of his jaw and the muscles that flexed on either side of his face as he clenched his teeth, most likely biting back the urge to get up and leave. His hair was nice, soft cocoa coloured curls, so different from the mess she’d first seen, laying delicately atop his forehead. His eyes were large and doe-like, the colour of wet earth and as deep as the night sky, and the soft arch of his brows made his expression kinder than most.

   Her stomach flipped as she looked him over.

   Did he have to look like that? Why was the world so against her?

   Y/N cleared her throat, opening her laptop that was sitting on the table in front of her in an attempt to disperse the tension that clung to the air between them like a thick fog.

   “So, you need help with English, right?” she began. “I’m sure Ned told you, but I’m majoring in both English and History, so I really hope that-”

   “Y/N.”

   Peter’s sudden interruption had her jumping slightly in her seat, and she was sure he hadn’t missed that reaction. She looked up at him, a thin lipped, innocent smile on her face. She hoped she looked like she had no idea what he was going to say next, but the inevitable is just that: inevitable.

   “Are we not gonna… talk about this?” he asked, his brows pulling together toward his nose.

   “Talk about what?” Was she really going to keep playing the idiot with him? Of course she was. It was better than confrontation.

   “You saw me coming home last night,” he said, and Y/N physically pulled away, though only a fraction of an inch. “I wanted to talk to you about it.”

   This was precisely the thing that she was trying to avoid. Her shoulders dropped and she let her body relax, finally letting a frown dominate her features.

   “Listen,” she sighed. “I don’t know what you were doing, if that’s a thing that you do on a regular basis or something, but it’s not really my place to intrude.”

   He seemed to relax as well, leaning back in his seat as he gazed at her. His stare made her cheeks warm.

   “Unless you’re a criminal, or something like that, but I guess I wouldn’t have the authority to judge the legality of your actions either so…” she looked at her hands again. “Look, all I know is you’re Ned’s best friend and Ned’s my friend, and he really cares about you and how well you do in this English course. So I’m doing this for him— so he doesn’t have to go through college without you because I know that would kill him. He always talks about you and the things you guys do together, and you guys are obviously really close, so my job is to make sure it stays that way.”

   When she looked back up at him, his eyes were wide once again, though this time it wasn’t out of shock. It was more out of awe, sheer admiration for the fact that she cared about Ned enough to help his crazy best friend who she thought was a criminal, apparently.

   “Thank you,” he muttered, the first smile since he’d arrived taking its place on his face. It made Y/N’s stomach tug lightly, though not in a bad way. “Why are you doing that for me— for him, actually?”

   “I’m not from here and I’m really shy, which is a deadly combination, and Ned was the only person who would talk to me,” she explained. “I’d probably never leave my dorm if it wasn’t for him. He’s basically my only friend here, so I wanna thank him by helping you.”

   She looked at him as Peter regarded her carefully. She could almost hear the wheels turning in his mind as he decided just what to make of her. Y/N swallowed, hoping it wasn’t audible.

   “He said you were nice but he didn’t mention that you were such a great friend,” he said.

   She could feel the tops of her ears burning as blood rushed her to her cheeks and nose, colouring her features. Looking away, she tried to repress a smile.

   “Yeah,” she muttered, not knowing what else to say. She met his gaze then, her eyes turning serious. “And he’s all I’ve got, so whatever it is you’re doing at night, you better not die. You looked pretty beat up this morning and I don’t know how you’re walking around like everything is fine so soon but frankly I don’t care as long as you’re safe.”

   When he was quiet for a moment, she hastily added, “For Ned’s sake, anyway.”

   He smiled at her widely then, his cheeks rounding at the top and brightening his entire face. Y/N didn’t think it was possible to blush even more than she already was.

   “Don’t worry,” he grinned. “I’m fine.”

   Christ, she wasn’t going to make it out of this alive.


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> awkward talks and villains and stuff... this one's a biggie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay before you read this, you gotta know that the eric thing (which will make sense when you read) happened a few months before the main story so
> 
>   
> main story: november  
> eric incident: september
> 
>   
> the time jump will make more sense later on but i didn't want any of you to be confused
> 
>  **and this chapter is kind of important so please don't skip it!** thank you!

   As it turned out, Peter wasn’t actually all that bad at English.

   He knew what each literary device was and their uses, and he understood how the play that his professor had chosen was a massive allegory. He didn’t seem to have a lot of trouble at all. The problem arose, however, whenever he tried to apply that knowledge.

    _The Crucible_  was one of Y/N’s favourite plays, having studied it in high school and re-read it at least three more times since. Of course for others, it’s more of a dry read, the language used too old fashioned and, without much description, the characters seem rather uninteresting. When Peter told her that he had to write a paper on the play (which he hadn’t even read, mind you), with a topic of his choosing, she’d been ecstatic. It appealed to both sides of her intellectual interest, being a wonderfully written literary work that alluded to the historical Red Scare that had consumed the nation in the 1950’s.

   Peter couldn’t do research for the life of him, though.

   It had been up to Y/N to pull books from the shelves, find passages for him to read and watch as he scribbled down notes in the spiral-bound notebook that he’d brought with him. It was as messy as he was, with papers sticking out of it from every direction, the front cover ripped in two places and drawn all over in pen. Y/N thought it was kind of cute. But it also felt like she’d seen a little too much of him when her gaze had lingered on the doodles, like she was invading his personal space. She opted for looking out the window.

   “Have you finished reading the article?” she asked when she noticed Peter’s gaze follow hers. It had started to rain, the droplets drumming softly on the window panes and blurring the view of the Quad.

   He hummed in response. They had barely shared a word apart from Y/N asking him to read something and take notes, or asking if he knew this or that, after their awkward first meeting. But it was better that way. At least for now, anyway.

   “So… what do you think?”

   He was reluctant to look away from the rain, his gaze lingering for a few moments even as his head turned to face her. When his eyes did meet hers, she couldn’t help but notice just how exhausted he looked, the droop clinging to his eyelids making him look as if he hadn’t slept in a century. At this point, Y/N would believe him if he told her that was the case.

   “Have you thought of a topic?” she pressed on, noting just how long it took him to blink at her. He looked like he was about to keel over and… sleep.

   “Not really,” he said, bringing a hand up to the back of his neck and scratching at it nervously. “I mean, I get it. Why he wrote the play the way he did and why it’s a classic and stuff, but nothing I’ve thought of is good enough to write about. I just don’t find the play interesting.”

   “Hm, fair enough,” she agreed, sliding her laptop back towards her now that Peter had finished with it. She scrolled through their current list of sources, trying to think of a topic.

   “I’m never gonna get this done,” Peter sighed, sounding exasperated. He rested his elbows on the tabletop and held his face in his palms. His next words were muffled against his hands. “There’s no point, anyway. I’m gonna get a shitty grade on it even if I try my best, because my best isn’t even that good.”

   “Not if I can help it,” Y/N mumbled, too immersed in the lines of text on her laptop in front of her to notice Peter sliding his index and middle fingers apart to look at her between them. If she had noticed, she might have also noticed the grin tugging at Peter’s lips, the corners just visible under the edge of his hands. But she didn’t.

   “Hey, if you don’t like the play, why not just write about the playwright?” she suggested, glancing up at him with a smile.

   Peter furrowed his brows in confusion. “What do you mean?”

   “Maybe your topic could be the Red Scare itself and the effect it had on Arthur Miller and his colleagues,” she went on. “And maybe even why he chose to write the play in the first place. I think we have a copy of a biography of his somewhere around here, but I’d have to check.”

   She noticed the smile Peter was giving her, and turned away, pretending to think about where the book might be.

   She actually just didn’t want to look at his face for too long, because if she did she might start doing something ridiculous, like blushing again. God knows she’d already done enough of that for one day— nay, a lifetime. Y/N knew she was too shy for her own good, but did her face really have to go  _that_  red whenever he just smiled at her? She had to get a grip, and fast.

   “At least that sounds more interesting than writing about the use of metaphors,” he said. “I’ll give that a try.”

   “Good.”

   Peter stifled a yawn against the back of his hand, and Y/N bit back the words that rested on the tip of her tongue. They’d been there for well over four hours, reading the play and finding potential sources. The gloomy weather and the time of year made for quite an early sunset, and she could see it beginning to get dark outside.

   “Why don’t we do that next time?” she offered, and didn’t miss the way Peter’s eyes lit up at the offer.

   “Sure,” he replied. He paused then, looking at her quizzically. “When is next time, though?”

   Y/N shrugged, already starting to put her laptop and its cord back into her bag. “I’m free all weekend if you want to start on it soon. Just let me know.”

   “Tomorrow then? Same time?”

   She could swear the look on his face was almost hopeful.

   “Sure.”

   And he gave her another one of his cheek-rounding smiles, his lips pressing together and his eyes brightening. She focused on putting her things away.

   They packed up in silence, Peter opting to put his skateboard in his backpack so one end stuck out of the top instead of holding it, and they both descended the stairs to the ground floor. Y/N waved goodbye to Carol on their way to the door, who smiled sweetly in return. She turned to find Peter looking at her and decided she should really be watching where she was going, anyway.

   “You going back to your dorm?” she asked.

   “Yeah. You?”

   “Yeah, same.” For some reason, her shoes were the most interesting thing to look at in that moment.

   She thanked Peter when he held one of the heavy library doors open for her, the bone-chilling wind leaving them both shivering. They stood on the top step in front of the library, underneath the small awning that covered the entrance. Peter looked out at the rain, which had started falling much more heavily, and frowned.

   “Damn,” he muttered. “And I didn’t even bring a jacket.”

   Y/N reached into her shoulder bag, rummaging around for a moment before she pulled out a folded black umbrella.

   “Since we’re going the same way, wanna share?” she offered. “You hold it though— you’re taller than me.”

   She hadn’t noticed before but he really was, even though he was average height for his age. She estimated that the top of her head reached only to his eyes, her chin in line with his shoulders. Which were really broad, she noticed then, though his baggy sweater had mostly hidden them. Y/N swallowed, holding the umbrella out to him.

   He took it with a smile. “Thanks.”

  The walk back to their building was nothing short of awkward, with Peter holding the umbrella between them but standing as close to the edge of it as he possibly could while the rain pelted down above them. Y/N did the same. The last thing she wanted was to be pressed against him under her already small umbrella, which now seemed minuscule with two people standing under it. Or was it the first thing? She almost physically shook her head at the thought. She was acutely aware of how warm he was despite the frigid temperature, and the way he smelled like clean laundry and spices. And then, of course, the resulting panic that followed that awareness.

   She’d worn that hoodie three days in a row, what if she smelled? What if that was why Peter was leaning so far away from her? What if he thought she was gross?

   Under any normal circumstance, Y/N would never even have attempted to talk to someone like him. After having sat across from him for as long as she did, and now having to focus on where her feet were landing on the sidewalk so she didn’t trip and fall because she was too busy watching the way his breath made small clouds in front of them, she couldn’t deny that he was pretty. That was the best word she could use to describe him and his big eyes, long lashes and his incredibly soft looking hair; he was really, really pretty, even with his injuries.

   And now that she thought about it, his injuries were probably one of the main reasons she felt more comfortable around him (which was frankly kind of ridiculous and very counterintuitive, considering the fact that someone who looked like they’d just walked straight out of  _Fight Club_  would be more frightening than someone who didn’t). It had brought them closer than if they’d just been tutor and student (was that even the right word?), the fact that she now knew something about him that few others did, whatever that something was. Despite having been frightened and awkward when she met him, she was beginning to relax.

   But only a little. It was still too soon to let her guard down.

   Peter shifted next to Y/N, stepping over a particularly large puddle and holding the umbrella back to shield her from the rain as she did the same. Even with the gloomy November weather, there were still a few people around Washington Square Park, all with umbrellas of their own. She suspected they’d look like walking mushrooms if viewed from above.

   “You’re still tense,” Peter said suddenly.

   Ironically, the statement made Y/N straighten her back more, her shoulders pulling in closer. She glanced up at him. There were raindrops in his hair.

   “I’m just cold,” she insisted, shrugging it off.

   “No you’re not.” At her frown, Peter backtracked. “Well, no I mean— you probably are cold but— just… you’ve been like that the whole time you talked to me. The only time you ever relaxed was when you were looking out the window or reading your own book.”

   So he’d noticed. It was a good thing she could blame the redness of her features on the cold now.

   “Sorry,” she sighed, looking at her feet and willing her posture to relax. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

   “Don’t worry, you didn’t,” Peter assured her. “I just wanted to make sure you’re not… that you’re not scared of me, or something. I know that seeing me the way you did last night, or this morning I guess, probably spooked you.”

   She didn’t respond for a while, thinking about the words she wanted to use and rolling them around in her mouth, trying out their taste. No matter what she planned to say, it was always sour and ugly, and probably hurtful. But he’d brought it up.

   He wanted to know. So, she had to tell him. Right?

   “Peter I’m not scared of you,” she began. “But… I don’t know, how am I supposed to trust you when you tell me you’re not a criminal, or something? I’ve only been here a year and a bit but I’ve noticed there are a lot of weird people in this city. A lot of sketchy people. How do I know you’re not one of them, whatever it is they do? How do I know you’re not involved in something dangerous?”

   He smiled then, much to her surprise.

   “Hey, look at me,” he said, stepping away but still holding the umbrella above her head, extending his free arm to the side to showcase himself to her. “Do I look dangerous to you?”

   If there were words to reply to him, they got caught in her throat on the way up.

   “Actually, don’t answer that. I’d like to keep my dignity intact,” he grinned, coming back under the cover.

   At this, Y/N laughed, bringing a hand up over her mouth to suppress the sound. Peter grinned widely. At least he’d made her laugh.

  “I don’t know,” she said, the smile still lingering after her bubbling laughter had subsided. “After this morning, I really don’t know what to think.”

   “Hmm,” Peter hummed, looking as if he was thinking hard. “Guess I’ll just have to prove to you I’m not, then.”

   The rush of blood that rose to her cheeks and ears was enough to leave her dizzy.

   The rest of the walk, albeit short, was silent, but not uncomfortably so. Peter held his keycard over the scanner and held the door open for her. He shook out her umbrella and returned it to her, thanking her for letting him share it. They rode the elevator together, and when they reached the sixth floor, they both stood in front of the common room. Y/N’s room was down the hall to the right and Peter’s was to the left.

   He turned to her then, giving her a small smile.

   “Thanks for agreeing to help me,” he said. “You know you can still back out if it gets too much for you. I know you’re a double major, too.”

   “I should be able to handle it. And you’re very welcome,” she replied.

   “So I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

   “Tomorrow.”

   When she was in front of her door, she turned back to find Peter in the middle of peeking over his shoulder at her. She could have sworn his cheeks went the slightest bit pink before he faced forward again and continued down the hall, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket and backpack swaying dangerously, still looking too close to ripping.

   Y/N stuck her key into the lock and turned, opening the door as quickly as she could. She leaned against it once she was inside, slipping her bag off her shoulder and dropping it to the floor.

   It was only the first day, and who knew how long she’d have to keep tutoring Peter.

   She wasn’t quite sure how much more of this her poor heart could handle.

 

* * *

 

   The biting wind was making Eric’s cheeks numb.

   Summer wasn’t even over yet; it was the first week of September, so why the Hell was it already so cold? He tugged his jacket tighter around himself, shoving his hands into his pockets and balling them into fists. He supposed the late hour had something to do with how cold it was. Yet another reason he hated taking closing shifts at the restaurant.

   His phone rang, giving him a start, and he fished it out of the back pocket of his jeans.

   “Hello?”

   “Hey, babe!” Rosie’s voice was only a little distorted through the phone, but her cheery tone lifted his frozen spirits and brought a smile to his face. She must have called the second she was sure that he had finished his shift and was on his way. Her habit of memorizing his weekly schedule had saved him on multiple occasions.

   “Hi, darlin’,” he grinned. “What’s up?”

   “I was just wondering when you were gonna get home,” she said. In the background, Eric could hear the distant sounds of a football game on the TV, and the ding of the oven timer. “Dinner’s practically ready.”

   “Mmm, what’d you make me?”

   “Meatloaf.”

   “My favourite.” He must have looked ridiculous, walking along with a big dopey grin on his face as he talked into his phone. But he couldn’t help it— he was in love. Had been for a while, actually, but every day felt like the first, and she still made him feel like an infatuated teenager. Frankly, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

   “I know,” Rosie giggled, and he could almost smell his favourite meal as he heard her open the oven. She must have had him on speaker. “And it’s here waiting for you so you better hurry before it gets cold.”

   “I’ll be home soon,” he assured her. “I’m taking the shortcut behind the restaurant.”

   Rosie grew silent then, leaving only the game commentator to fill the silence in the distance. Eric shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He shouldn’t have told her.

   “You know I don’t like you taking that route,” she muttered, so quietly that Eric had to strain to hear her. “It’s dangerous.”

   “I know, but I’ll be quick,” he said, trying not to worry her. “I never take the alleys anyway— I always stay in the streetlights.”

   “Yeah, but I worry,” she said, and he could almost picture her perfect pout. It made his heart tug. “I’ve heard so many awful stories on the news lately of things happening near there. I can’t help it.”

   “Don’t worry, babe, I’ll be home before you know it.”

   “You better be.”

   “Don’t eat without me, okay?” he joked.

   “I don’t know, Eric, this meatloaf looks real tasty,” she teased. “You better hurry or I might just eat all of it by myself.”

   He laughed at that, knowing that she refused to eat dinner without him and would always wait for him to get back to the apartment. “I’ll see you in a bit, okay?”

   “Okay,” Rosie replied. “I love you.”

   “Love you too.”

   The night atmosphere seemed far too quiet without Rosie’s voice in his ear, and Eric shivered as another gust of wind hit him square in the face. He understood his girlfriend’s concerns and he knew where she was coming from, but he would manage. Of course, that particular neighbourhood would never be as safe as it used to be. It was one of the reasons that he had begun to resent all the big name superheroes that seemed to sprout in New York (and only New York, for whatever reason).

   Especially the newest one, Spider-Man, who had just recently gained the status of ‘big name superhero’ in Eric’s mind.

   Eric used to idolize Spider-Man. He was a guy with super powers who looked out for the little guy, took care of robberies and B&E’s, always handling a mugging if he was nearby and keeping the streets of New York safe for the ordinary citizen. It was what Eric wished he could do. He only dreamed of one day doing the things that the web-slinger could do, helping people just because it was the right thing to do and making time to make sure everyone was safe. Ever since the Avengers became a reality, and superheroes were a new norm, he always felt that he hadn’t been doing enough. He wasn’t contributing at all to society by working a shitty job as a server, even if it was a higher-end restaurant. He only got that job because his mom knew the owner, anyway. They probably wouldn’t have hired him otherwise. Eric could’ve been doing so much more, if only he could do the things Spider-Man could. The wall crawler was, quite literally, his hero.

   But then things changed.

   The first incident, with The Vulture, hadn’t changed much; Spidey still did his daily duties of swinging around the city and making sure that no one dared to even think of committing a crime in his neighbourhood. But following his defeat of The Vulture, he’d had to take on Electro. That went well, and must have been a boost to the hero’s ego because before anybody could even blink, he was taking down ‘super villains’ left and right.

   Electro was quickly followed by The Lizard, a science experiment at Oscorp gone wrong. During that duel, Eric remembered vividly and with great distaste, many lives were lost, police and civilian alike.

   But Spider-Man had, once again, prevailed.

   What he wasn’t aware of, however, was that in his absence the streets of New York once again became unsafe. At least parts of them, such as the one Eric was trekking through now.

   The man who had once been considered the city’s protector had become distracted by his obviously more worthy opponents, and seemed to have forgotten about the little guys he had once sworn to protect.

   This frustrated Eric, because now people like him had to be afraid walking home at night again. And it really wasn’t fair.

   He continued his walk back to his apartment, now more disgruntled than anything else, having been reminded of his distaste for the so called ‘heroes’ of the city. It would be better to hurry home, for Rosie’s sake.

   As he was about to pass an alleyway, however, a sound caught his attention. It was something like a crash, and he could have sworn he heard glass breaking. But since it was in an alley, and a rather large dumpster obscured his view of the dark corridor, he decided it must have been a cat poking around the garbage.

   But the voices that followed the crash definitely did not belong to a cat.

   “Where the fuck is it?”

   “I already told you, I don’t have it.”

   “Liar.”

   The voices were hushed but aggressive, because they most likely knew people, such as Eric (who now found himself in an incredibly unfortunate situation), could have been walking by. He heard a thud, like a blow landing against another person, and a sharp groan. His eyes widened and he ducked behind the side of the dumpster, hoping whoever it was in the alley hadn’t seen him at the entrance. That was the last thing he needed right in that moment.

   There were sounds of a struggle, one of them obviously trying to fight the other off. He had deduced that there were two of them, because he had only heard two sets of voices. Cautiously, he peeked around the edge of the dumpster, trying to get a look at what was going on.

   He had been right; there were two men in that alleyway, and they were definitely struggling. One was much larger, and had the other pinned to the brick wall of one of the buildings that the alley lay between, with a hand to his throat as the victim doubled over in pain. It looked like he’d been punched hard in the stomach, struggling to catch his breath with his hands clutched over his abdomen. They both looked stereotypically ‘suspicious-looking’, dressed in all black and with somewhat average looks. But that didn’t make them any less scary.

   “I asked you a fucking question,” the larger one hissed through clenched teeth, little bits of spittle flinging out and landing on his victim’s face. Eric recoiled in disgust, but the man actually affected seemed not to care.

   “And I told you twice, I don’t fucking have it.” Though he was being choked, his voice was surprisingly clear, as if he’d been accustomed to this type of treatment.

   Eric could not believe what he was seeing, his eyes widening in both fear and astonishment as he took in the scene before him.

   “I’m going to ask you one more time,” declared the attacker, reaching into his pocket and extracting a small stub of metal that Eric was too far away from to recognize. “Where is the vial?”

   His victim looked down at the metal in his hand, smirking through bloodied lips and teeth at the sight. Was he… laughing?

   “Do it,” he urged, a crazed look in his eyes. “They’re gonna kill me anyway.”

   The larger one clicked a button on the side of the metal, and Eric realized with horror that it was a switchblade, the shining silver blade snapping out of the handle in one quick motion that sent the man being pushed against the wall howling with laughter.

   “Do it!” he yelled, his expression turning angry but his voice still dripping with mirth. “Just fucking do it!”

   “Hey!”

   When people retell stories of their great bravery and heroism, one might often hear the phrase, ‘my body moved on its own, and I was doing it before I even thought about it’. Eric never understood how that worked, how someone could lose control of their body and all rational thought like that, so easily and without warning.

   But he had a feeling he was going to understand very soon.

   He was standing all of a sudden, stepping around the dumpster and directly into the line of view of both men, his shoulders squared and brow furrowed in a (probably very poor) attempt at looking intimidating. It wasn’t that he couldn’t fight if he had to— he’d boxed until he turned twenty-four, and still regularly went to the gym. If it came down to it, he was certain he could take even the larger one in a fight. Of course, he’d prefer not to do that.

   In a moment of panic, the attacker took one look at Eric and reared back, only to plunge the switchblade into his victim’s stomach all the way to the hilt.

   The man’s agonized scream reverberated through Eric’s head, bouncing around the inside of his skull and making him shake with fear. He almost missed the assailant reaching into the other man’s jacket pockets searching until he apparently found what he was looking for. He took one look at Eric and smirked, before turning and bolting down the alley.

   “Fuck!” Eric scrambled toward the injured man as he stumbled down against the wall, his knees giving out and his body falling limp. His legs felt like jelly, nearly tripping multiple times as he raced to help him. Eric only barely caught him, lessening the blow of the landing and setting him down gently.

   “Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered, his face most likely a mixture of sheer terror and disgust. The man was bleeding so much. As he set his body down, Eric looked at his forearms only to see his jacket sleeves stained with the crimson fluid. “Oh God, what the fuck, oh my God!”

   He couldn’t stop mumbling as he hastily reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, dialling 911 and setting it next to the man who was losing consciousness and blood on the alley floor.

   “T-they’re gonna come help you,” Eric stammered, stepping away from him. “You’re g-gonna be okay.”

   And with that, he took off in a full sprint in the direction that the mugger had gone, hoping to at least catch a better sight of him to help his inevitable witness statement. But what he hadn’t been expecting was the assailant to be waiting for him at the end of the alley, the dead end that stopped him from escaping.

   Eric stopped running a few yards away from him, panting heavily from the rush of adrenaline his body had just been put through. The man only grinned wickedly, and held his fists up, squaring his shoulders and laughing.

   “Come on, then, hero,” he mocked.

   When he recalled this moment, he couldn’t quite pinpoint what exactly happened, only that he’d lunged at the man before him and they both ended up in tussle on the asphalt, Eric barely managing to dodge his punches and only landing a couple himself.

   But then he’d been pinned, his skull smacking back against the wet ground with a loud, frightening thud and an ache that made him fear that bone had actually broken.

   He shouted in pain, white dots exploding behind his eyelids as he squeezed them shut. His body felt like it was lurching, even though he was lying on the ground, nausea creeping over him as his mind played tricks on him. It felt like he was still falling. The man gave him another punch to the cheek, knocking his head back against the ground one more time.

   At this point, Eric believed he was going to die. What a way to go, huh? If that other guy lived at least he’d have gone out saving someone… right?

   The distant sound of sirens set both of them on edge, the attacker above him cursing under his breath and standing up quickly. But as he scrambled to his feet, he failed to notice the vial he’d taken from his victim slipping out of his pocket and clattering softly to the ground next to Eric. It was a clear tube, filled with an odd iridescent purple liquid. Eric looked at it quizzically, though he could see about six of it and they were all spinning.

   With a soft crunch, the attacker began running back toward the entrance of the alley, but not before stepping on the vial and breaking the glass. How angry would he be when he got to wherever he was going and notice he didn’t have it? The thought made Eric laugh joylessly, and as his lips spread over his teeth he tasted copper and dirt. He must have been delusional to be laughing in a moment like that.

   The sirens steadily grew louder, and Eric rolled himself onto his hands and knees, his head still making everything around him spin.

   It must have also been making him hallucinate, because he could have sworn the liquid that had been in the vial was floating. It was rising from the ground in small glowing droplets, small enough to resemble spores. He looked at it carefully, brow furrowing in confusing as his eyes struggled to focus. It looked like it was getting awfully close. It was quite realistic for a hallucination.

   And then he felt it on his lips.

   “Ah!” Eric jerked back, frightened of whatever the fuck had been in the stupid glass vial, that was now rising quickly as he tried to crawl away from it. But it was everywhere. 

   In his eyes, in his nose, in his mouth, on his skin; he was breathing it in, the inside of his mouth and nose burning hellishly and he squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the heels of his palms against them to try to quell the pain.

   His throat constricted and suddenly he couldn’t breathe, feeling like a fish out of water as he clutched at his neck. It felt like something was squeezing his throat, choking him from the outside. He desperately tried to get up but managed only to scrape the palms of his hands against the asphalt, blood mixing with the water that had been left behind from the rainfall that afternoon. When his throat finally relaxed, he almost wished it’d choked him.

   He was vomiting. Violently. And it was purple.

   Eric couldn’t will his body to stop, gagging over and over again as he emptied the contents of his stomach and then some. His body was still trying to make him throw up well after there was nothing left, the force of his attempts making him lightheaded.

   God, he was crying. He didn’t care.

   Was  _this_  how he was going to die? This was so much worse than getting beaten to death. He would welcome that with open arms over whatever level of Hell this was.

   He was going to die covered in puke and tears and someone else’s blood, and all he could think of was Rosie’s face when she’d find out.

   His arms and legs trembled, the tremors of his vomiting and the force of his tears barely allowing his limbs to hold him up. They gave out, and he landed on his elbows, forehead to the ground. He tasted pennies and chemicals, whatever was in the vial leaving a bitter and toxic sting on his tongue, and mixing with his blood. He noticed briefly that his nose had started bleeding as well, but he didn’t know if it was because of the punches he’d received or because of whatever reaction his body was having to the violet toxin. 

   Choking on his sobs, he gasped for air as the sirens approached. They must have been on the street just outside the alley. He might have a chance. They might be able to save him. The thought only made him cry harder.

   The last thing he remembered was reaching for the red and blue lights with a torn up palm, before his eyes rolled back into his head and he saw purple, his lifeless body falling to the ground one last time.

 

* * *

 

   The first sense that came back to him was smell. But even that was too much.

   Eric inhaled sharply through his nose, his mind trying to get a hold of his surroundings while his other senses were still incapacitated. The air he breathed in burned his nostrils all the way to the bridge of nose, and he felt his eyes water with the sting of it.

   It smelled sterile, like a morgue. Reeked of the chemical stench that disinfected the pathologist’s instruments.

   Holy fuck, was he dead?

   His sense of touch followed shortly after. He steadily grew more and more aware that he was being shaken softly, a hand on his shoulder. Fingers rubbed into his arm, whatever it was that he was dressed in feeling like sandpaper. He jerked back, eyes snapping open and being momentarily blinded by the sudden influx of bright light.

   As he adjusted his view, something blocked the light from his eyes, a darker figure that looked like a head. He could barely make out dirty blonde hair tied into a haphazard bun on their head and the movement of their mouth. Large black glasses that looked way too close to slipping off their face was what made him recognize her.

   It was Rosie.

   She was saying something, her lips moving with a sad smile. Eric could see the trails of tears left behind on her cheeks, shining in the white light of the hospital room.

   So he was in a hospital room. That explained the smell.

   “Eric? Baby, can you hear me?”

   His eyes focused on Rosie’s, her eyebrows furrowed as her gaze went glassy with more tears. He smiled weakly at her, or at least he tried to, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if it had come out like a grimace.

   “Hi.”

   Eric’s voice sounded like he was pushing gravel through his vocal chords, gritty and coarse, and somehow his mouth still tasted like dirt. Rosie smiled at him, but her eyes were sad and heavy with tear drops.

   “You scared the shit out of me,” she choked out. Leaning over him, she pressed her face against his shoulder, finally letting herself sob openly.

   “Hey, I’m okay now,” he murmured, bringing a hand up to stroke at her head. “I’m okay.”

   “You got mugged, Eric,” she told him, voice muffled by the hospital scrubs her mouth was moving against.

   Was that what happened? Eric couldn’t remember. All his memory could recall was fight, a knife and, for whatever reason, the colour purple. His eyes widened as he pieced together as much as he could from his fragmented memories, looking down at the top of Rosie’s head as she shook.

   “How’s the other guy?” he asked in a worried tone.

   “Huh?” Rosie brought her head up to look at him quizzically, sitting back into the seat that she’d placed next to his bed.

   “There was a guy— no, two. One of them got stabbed I think,” he explained. “Is he okay?”

   His girlfriend nodded sadly, looking away. “Yeah he’s fine.”

   Something was off. Eric could see it in the way she wouldn’t meet his eyes, and how here thumbs rubbed against each other in her lap. She wanted to say something.

   “What is it?” he prodded softly, hoping she’d tell him. He extended a hand, the one that wasn’t hooked up to the IV drip and placed it gently on her knee. When Rosie met his eyes, she looked concerned.

   “He lived because of you,” she explained. “Whatever happens you saved a man’s life, and no one can take that away from you.”

   “What are you talking about?”

   “Eric… that man is a criminal,” she told him. “The police wouldn’t say much to me but I overheard them talking to each other— I think he works with the Maggia.”

   The Maggia? The organized crime syndicate? Eric thought they’d been taken down already. Were they still in power?

   “Apparently he’s pretty high on the wanted list, because they’ve got three cops in his room all the time,” Rosie went on. “Guess he’s pretty dangerous.”

   “Baby, I didn’t know—”

   “Of course you didn’t,” she muttered, placing her hand over the one that still rested on her knee. “How could you have known? You did what you thought was right. Just what I’d expect from you in a situation like that. You and your ridiculous heart of gold— look where it got you.”

   Her sad laugh brought a smile to his face, and he turned his hand over to interlace their fingers. She was always so warm. Even with her cheeks blotchy and red, and her eyes swollen with tears, her smile was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Eric could never imagine life without his flower by his side.

   “I guess I helped catch a criminal then,” he muttered, rubbing his thumb over the top of her hand. “That’s pretty cool, huh?”

   Rosie snorted, turning her head. “That’s one way to put it.”

   She never once let go of his hand that night; not when the doctor came in to tell him he had a severe concussion and had to spend the night, not when the police came in to try and get a statement until the nurses shooed them away because he had mild amnesia, and not when one of the custodial staff came to inform them that visiting hours were long past over (one look at Rosie’s pleading face and they allowed her to stay, though. She always knew how to get what she wanted). She fell asleep there with him, her hand in his, until her arm went limp and it slipped back onto the chair. Eric watched her sleeping there, looking so peaceful and at ease despite what she’d just been put through.

   Eric was not the least bit concerned with what happened to him compared to Rosie; he couldn’t bear to think of the pain and anguish he must have caused his poor girlfriend. He was glad she seemed calm now, though there were still tears drying on her pink cheeks.

   Whatever happened, they’d be okay. They always were.

   As long as they were together, nothing bad could ever happen.


	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> peter is so s o f t in this one... oh and the plot develops some more, so that's important too

   To his surprise, though it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, Peter found himself looking forward to heading to the library the following day. Had anyone told him just even a week prior that he’d be excited about getting tutored, he might have just scoffed in their face. But it was different now.

   Because it was Y/N.

   He didn’t know exactly what it was about her that made him so giddy as he kicked off his skateboard and set off through the quad. He was trying to suppress his smile, looking like a little kid trying to keep a secret as he whizzed past the students around him. He was more distracted than usual, a few people having to jump out of the way before he collided with them head on.

   He couldn’t help it though; he only had one thing on his mind.

   And that was seeing her smile again.

   She’d given him many during their time together in the library, grinning politely at him when she agreed with a point he made or kindly asked him to read a passage. But they were all thin lipped and forced, and Peter could feel it in the air that Y/N was more than uncomfortable to be sitting across from him.

   But the smile she gave him as they were walking back to their building, the laugh she let bubble past her lips at his really terrible joke, was imprinted in Peter’s mind. He saw it on the backs of his eyelids when he went to bed that night, Ned having refused to let him do his rounds that evening because of his injuries. He saw it when he was getting dressed, actually making an effort to pick out a nicer looking outfit than the old hoodie he’d worn the day before (way to make a first impression, huh?). He saw it as he walked up the steps to the library doors, pulling it open and stepping into the warm atmosphere.

   Peter hoped he’d see it again. It was gorgeous.

   He was surprised to see Y/N behind the front desk, typing away at one of the desktops as he entered. Stopping in front of her, he smiled as her eyes met his. She grinned at him. His heart pounded.

   “Hey,” he greeted, leaning against the counter. “I thought you didn’t work this weekend?”

   “I was just updating the library events page while I waited for you,” she explained, saving her file and slinging the bag she’d set on top of the desk over her shoulder. She walked around to stand next to him, wrapping a scarf around her neck. “There’s a club meeting going on upstairs and all the other good study spots are taken right now so I thought you’d be okay if we went somewhere else.”

   “Where did you have in mind?” Peter asked, beginning to step alongside her as she exited the building. He held the door for her, noticing that she struggled just a bit against the heavy weight of it, and she smiled up at him in thanks.

   It wasn’t quite the same smile, not as open as the one she had when she laughed the day before, but it made her expression glow regardless. His palms briefly felt crackly, like TV static under his skin, and he could tell he was about to start sweating nervously. Better get out into the cold faster, then.

   “I was thinking maybe the dining hall,” she told him, wrapping her arms around herself as the biting wind met her frame. “It’s only noon, but I’ve been up since eight and I haven’t eaten yet. Would you mind if we studied there? I took out a copy of Arthur Miller’s biography for you so you have some sources with you.”

   “Yeah, for sure,” he agreed happily. “I actually haven’t eaten either, but I can’t say I’ve been up as long as you have.”

   “Old habits, you know the rest,” she muttered. “I had a lot of morning shifts last semester even though I took the summer off from studies and I guess my body just kind of got used to waking up early.”

   Peter hummed in response, glancing over at her as she walked beside him. He was glad that it was an easy silence that fell over them then, as opposed to the awkward tension that had engulfed them the entirety of the day before. Y/N seemed more relaxed around him now and for that he was grateful. He didn’t think he could bear it if she still regarded him with caution, constantly walking on eggshells around him because she thought he was dangerous. He knew she still doubted him, but at least she wasn’t giving herself a backache with her stiff, tense posture.

   He took in the curve of her neck hidden underneath her scarf, the ends of it loosely tucked into her striped sweater. She looked so cozy, but she was also kind of shivering.

   Peter had half a mind to offer her his jacket, but hadn’t gotten past the ‘but what if that’s weird?’ part of his internal debate when she stopped, and he almost walked into her back.

   Oh. He’d forgotten how close the dining hall was to the library.

   Quickly stepping around her, he opened one of the glass doors for her, gesturing with his open palm for her to enter. “After you.”

   The fact that he was stuck on the way her cheeks reddened at the gesture was not doing him any favours. They entered the hall, a combination of sweet and savoury aromas assaulting Peter’s senses and making him momentarily disoriented. He blinked rapidly and flared his nostrils, trying to get his eyes to stop watering before Y/N noticed. Sometimes his spidey-senses were just a tad too much for him, even though he’d been dealing with them for around five years.

   They both stood in line as their ESU student ID’s were swiped into the computer system, confirming their enrollment in the school and their payment of the meal plan, and stepped into the hall, both of them looking for an empty table. It wasn’t loud in the hall for once, but it was still buzzing with the chatter of students as they ate and socialized, others studying just as they planned to do. Peter spotted a table near one of the large back windows and gestured for Y/N to follow him. They settled down and took their things out of their bags, Peter slipping out his notebook (that he’d been kind of embarrassed by when Y/N had first seen it— it was a mess) and Y/N taking out her books and laptop. Though it was still cold outside, the sun began to shine through the clouds and lit their table up with a soft mid-day glow.

   “I’m gonna get some food,” Y/N said, pointing her thumb back in the direction of the kitchen. “You coming?”

   “I will in a bit, you go first,” he muttered.

   “Okay.”

   He watched her retreating figure and allowed himself to sink into his seat, a sigh slipping past his lips. Peter hadn’t stopped being aware of just how hard and how loud his heart was thumping, as it if was actively trying to hammer its way out of his ribcage. It still surprised him that he’d actually been anticipating meeting with her again. He’d even started to enjoy reading the play in his dorm the night before, because every time he did he’d remember her face when he told her which play he had to write the paper on.

   She’d been incredibly happy, proudly declaring it was one of her favourites and that she had plenty of knowledge on it. And after that, Peter couldn’t read a single line without thinking of her; of the way her eyes shone even in the gloomy weather, the radiance of her skin as she laughed and the brightness of her personality. He had a hard time believing she was as shy as she said she was even if he’d only known her for day.

   It felt like he’d already known her a lifetime.

   But he shouldn’t be getting ahead of himself. This was only their second (actually third, but the first one didn’t count in his mind) encounter.

   “Hey, dude!”

   At the sound of the voice that he’d recognize anywhere, Peter glanced up to find Ned bouncing happily toward him, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder and his laptop tucked under the other arm. It was incredibly rare to find Ned without his laptop as he was always working on one of his many coding or robotics assignments.

   “Hey,” Peter grinned back. Ned pulled a seat out the seat next to Peter and sat down down, setting his laptop on the table. “What’s up?”

   “Just got done with my lab,” he said. “Was gonna grab lunch. But why are you here? Thought you were going to the library to meet with Y/N again today.”

   “It was busy in there so we came here. She’s grabbing food.”

   “Oh, awesome.” Ned smiled widely, already taking his things out of his bag and setting them on the table despite not having asked the question that Peter knew was inevitably coming. “Mind if I join you guys then? I’ll be quiet, I promise— coding doesn’t make much noise.”

   “Fine with me,” Peter said, opening his notebook to the page where he’d last taken notes. “You gotta ask Y/N though.”

   “Ask me what?”

   As if on cue, Y/N walked over to the table, a plate with what looked like shepherd’s pie and steamed vegetables on it in her hands. She set it down on the table in front of her seat, glancing up and noticing the new addition to their group.

   “Oh, hey Ned,” she greeted, a warm smile gracing her features. “What are you doing here?”

   “Grabbin’ lunch after my four-hour lab. You know how hungry those make me,” he laughed, and Y/N giggled in return.

   Peter felt his stomach drop watching the interactions between his two friends— wait, could he even call Y/N his friend? Not quite yet, but he liked to think that someday, hopefully soon, he’d be able to. But it didn’t stop the sharp twist in his gut as they laughed together, Y/N obviously much more comfortable around Ned. She had a reason to be, but still… didn’t mean he couldn’t feel envious of it.

   Was that what it was? Envy? Maybe it was jealousy.

   The thought of being jealous of his best friend left a sour taste in his mouth but it wasn’t exactly something he could help. And Y/N obviously didn’t like Peter, let alone trust him, so he’d just have to get over it.

   God knows how long that would take, though.

   “I was just gonna ask if you guys didn’t mind me joining you while you study,” Ned told her as she settled into her seat across from Peter. “I won’t distract you, I swear.”

   “Yeah, I believe you,” she grinned, stabbing her fork into a particularly large piece of carrot and blowing the steam away from it. “Peter’s got a lot of reading and note-taking to do today. Hopefully by the end of it we might even have a workable thesis statement for his paper. That sound okay to you?”

   It took him about three seconds too long to realize she was taking to him now, and not to Ned, as he caught her questioning gaze. He’d been too preoccupied wondering how he could possibly be jealous of Ned and got distracted, caught off guard when she asked him a question.

   He swallowed, quickly nodding his head. “Yeah, that sounds fine.”

   Peter glanced to his left to find Ned looking at him with raised brows, his eyes flicking over to look at the girl across from them and then back to Peter. He could practically feel the blood flowing underneath the skin of his cheeks as he started to blush.

   He stood way too quickly.

   “I’m gonna go grab food,” he said, and glanced down at Ned. “Come with me?”

   “Yeah, sure dude.”

   No matter how badly he wanted to turn around and take one last look at her as the two of them walked towards the chicken, he managed to resist the urge.

   Ned had to walk a little faster to keep up with him, as Peter was trying to get away from that extremely awkward situation as fast as possible. He scurried up to his best friend, who was taking strides that were way too big to be normal and looked at him questioningly. Peter made a point not to look at the expression Ned was giving him because he already knew what it was.

   “Dude,” he whispered, though Peter was unsure why because Y/N couldn’t possibly hear them from that far away. “What the hell was that?”

   “Nothing.”

   “Hold on, hold on, hold on,” Ned said, stepping around his best friend to block his path. “Why are you being weird?”

   “I’m not— I’m not being weird, Ned,” Peter sighed, looking over the boy’s shoulder to watch the other students lining up to get their food at the various stations. “I’m fine.”

   “Yeah, and I’m Celine Dion,” he replied with a roll of his eyes. “There’s something you’re not telling me, dude, and you know we don’t keep secrets from each other.”

   “I’m not keeping a secret, I swear,” Peter insisted, holding his right hand up in a mock oath, hoping to get Ned to stop bothering him about it. “Now can we please go get food? I’m hungry.”

   “Okay, but I still don’t believe you.”

   Ned wouldn’t stop his grumbling as they got their food, Peter settling for a grilled cheese and tomato soup while Ned dumped large spoonfuls of baked mac and cheese onto his plate. If there was one thing Peter could always appreciate was that the dining hall had lots of variety when it came to meal options. But he didn’t even have the chance to admire the food, which was more often than not actually really good—compared to his old high school cafeteria lunches, anyway—because Ned wouldn’t stop trying to get an answer out of him.

   “I don’t know, man, all I’m saying is that there’s obviously something wrong,” he continued.

   “When is there not something wrong, Ned?” Peter deadpanned.

   “Okay, edgelord,” his best friend mocked. “Would you just tell me what’s up with you?”

   Peter gave Ned a stern look, a firm and inaudible ‘ _drop it_ ’ that make Ned hold his hands up in defence. As they were grabbing utensils, Peter found himself glancing up at their table.

   Y/N was radiant. Sitting there in the glow of the sun as it washed over the light wood of the table, a spoon suspended in one hand and a book in the other. Peter found himself mesmerized by the sight of her, and happened to miss Ned leaning to peek over his shoulder to see what he was looking at.

   “Are you serious?”

   Peter jumped, shocked by Ned’s voice so close to his ear and stared with wide eyes at his best friend. “What?”

   “You like her,” Ned said, eyebrows raised and a smug smile on his lips.

   “What?! No I—” Peter was left sputtering around his words as he tried to think of a response to  _absolutely ridiculous_  accusation. He could feel his entire face burning as he blushed profusely. “I do not like her, I just—”

   “Somehow, I knew this would happen,” Ned said with a smile, completely disregarding Peter’s protests. “I can’t say it was part of the reason why I asked her to tutor you but I feel like deep down I hoped it would.”

   “You what?”

   “You’re her type, ya know. She probably thinks you’re cute or something. So, like… get on that shit.”

   “Ned!”

   “What?” he asked. “I’m just saying.”

   Peter sighed, closing his eyes against the oncoming headache that threatened to overcome his temples. “Okay, just don’t don’t say anything to her. Please.”

   “So what you’re saying is, you do like her and you want me to keep it a secret because you’re going to use your Parker charm and woo her until she falls unconditionally in love with you?”

   “No.”

   “Alright, you can count on me.” Ned mock-saluted at Peter with a grin, and stepped off with his plate and his drink back toward the table.

   Peter sighed, following behind him. “Why am I still friends with you?”

   “‘Cause without me, you’d be dead.”

   Hm. He did have a point.

   Peter could only hope that his blush had subsided enough by the time they got to the table, but his cheeks still felt warm. They sat down across from Y/N who grinned up at them.

   She set down her book, opening her laptop and pushing her plate aside. “You ready to start then?”

   Peter swallowed and nodded.

   He definitely wasn’t ready.

   Their studying session went just as the one before had, except this time they had Ned joining them, the only sound coming from him being the clacking of his laptop keys as he typed away. Y/N would point out important passages from the biography in between bits of food when peter needed help, but ultimately it was up to Peter to do most of the research.

   He found himself getting distracted at the worst times, having to reread a particularly large passage because he hadn’t been paying attention as his eyes skimmed over the words. He was too preoccupied with everything happening around him to be able to pay attention properly. It was something he struggled with since his heightened senses had developed.

   The smells and the sounds especially got under his skin; he’d pick up on a word from someone spoken across the room, or smell the fact that that the last time a person had worn that sweater was with their cat and they hadn’t washed it yet. It was overwhelming sometimes, but he’d been working to keep it under control. Sitting in silence with nothing to distract him, however, proved to be the wrong choice.

   He decided instead to focus on the sound of the television that sat on the wall across from them. There was always sports or a newscast playing in the dining hall— something everyone could either enjoy or use as background noise. Peter had intended to use it for the latter, trying to ground himself amidst the rising volumes in the hall as more people filed in for a late lunch after classes.

   But he hadn’t been expecting to hear that particular news report.

   “In a string of attacks against what appears to be only the wealthy of New York, another man has fallen victim.”

   Peter’s head immediately snapped up to look at the TV, the classic rise-and-fall timbre of the anchor’s voice catching his attention. His eyes narrowed as he watched her speak on the screen, her expression somber as she read from the teleprompter behind the camera.

   “Fifty-three year old Alan Montgomery was found dead in his penthouse late yesterday evening by his building’s cleaning staff. Montgomery was most widely known for his ownership of multiple art exhibitions and galleries throughout Manhattan, however there were those who suspected that his acquisition of the pieces displayed was all but lawful. And now some are suspected his death and the recent accidents involving others like him are connected. Nina Forrester has more.”

   The camera cut then to a woman in an expensive looking navy pantsuit standing in front of police tape and flashing red and blue lights, gripping a microphone and looking far too overexposed with the bright lights shining in her face. Having been a photographer for the Daily Bugle during his last two years of high school, he couldn’t help but be nit-picky about things like that.

“Late yesterday evening, police dispatch alerted officers of a suspected homicide inside the famed Alan Montgomery’s home. Though police have not confirmed whether he died of natural causes or if there is any suspected foul play, they have confirmed that Mr. Montgomery has passed. NYPD has had no comment when asked if the recent string of brutal homicides against the ‘top one percent’ of New York and this incident are related, but that does not stop public speculation.”

   As the shots changed between her interviewing people on the streets about their opinion, Peter nudged Ned with his elbow.

   “Hey,” Ned groaned, but stopped as he saw the look Peter was giving him.

   Jerking his head toward the TV, Peter watched as Ned took in the headline at the bottom of the screen and watched the news reporter interview pedestrians. His eyes widened as he looked back at Peter, and an unspoken question hung in the air between them.

    _Is that a spidey problem?_

   Ned shrugged, eyes still wide and concerned as his gaze flickered back to Y/N sitting across from them. She hadn’t noticed the interaction, thankfully, but it was still too early to leave. And besides, they didn’t even know if it was something Peter had to deal with.

   Ned gave him a questioning gaze, and Peter pointed his chin towards Ned’s laptop. With a sharp nod, he saved and closed his assignment, opening up a new web browser tab in order to begin his research on the subject.

   Peter spent the remainder of their time in the dining hall nervously tapping his foot underneath the table as he pretended to read the play and the biography in front of him. Ned’s brows were perpetually furrowed as he scrolled through articles and police reports, and every so often he glanced over and made eye contact with Peter.

   It couldn’t be anything good.

   “Alright guys,” Y/N muttered, stretching her arms out over her head as she spoke. Peter looked away. “I’m gonna have to call it a day. I promised my boss I’d help set up for an event tonight and I still have to write a paper of my own. Do you mind, Peter?”

   “No, not at all.”

   Okay, that response was way too fast. But Y/N didn’t seem bothered as she smiled softly at him.

   “Thanks,” she muttered, putting her things back into her bag. “Text me when you want to meet up again, yeah? You still need a thesis.”

   “Y-yeah, I will,” he grinned.

   There were conflicting emotions circulating inside him as he watched her go. On the one hand he was glad she had left so that he and Ned could discuss just what it was they were going to do about the problem at hand, but on the other he felt a tug in his gut at the thought of her leaving. It was frustrating, to say the least.

   When she’d finally left the building, Peter braced himself for Ned’s onslaught of information.

   “Okay so get this,” he began. “I was going through recent police reports and some news articles—I even went through a few blog posts, and remind me to never do that again—but I found something interesting.

   “There have been a ton of deaths involving the wealthiest people in the city, but there’s a catch. Some people think they’re all connected because they’re rich, but others—and I think they might be right—think they’re connected for another reason. All of these guys,” he said as he turned the laptop around to show Peter. “Have either been accused, gone to court and been acquitted, or have had charges against them dropped. But all the accusations and charges have to do with their money and the way they got it.

   “This guy—Jonathan Carter. Apparently he was involved in some drug trafficking ring that brought this new kind of ecstacy in from, like, Russia or something. Everyone insists he made his money by selling it and not from his small businesses as he claimed. So many cops tried to prove the businesses were just a laundering scheme but they all either got fired or suspended without pay. Last week, out of the blue, bam, guy ends up dead in his house. It’s really fishy, dude.

   “And that’s only one of them. There are at least six other instances like this and I’d say the evidence is pretty damning.”

   “Then why hasn’t NYPD alerted anyone of a serial killer or anything like that?” Peter asked, mulling over the information Ned had just given him.

   “That’s the thing,” Ned added (how many more ‘ _things_ ’ were there going to be?). “I managed to get a look at the medical examiner’s reports for some of these and they’re all classified as accidents caused by animals. Dude, these guys were fucking mauled to death. Like, guts coming out places they shouldn’t be coming out of, mauled. We’re talking medieval disembowelment, mauled. The ME used some pretty descriptive language and it sounds like they all met the same, angry mutant bear.”

   Peter frowned, folding his arms over the table. “But that’s impossible. This is New York. Unless they all died at the zoo, there’s no way any of them could have encountered an animal capable of doing that.”

   “Yeah, I know,” Ned agreed, rolling his eyes. “I was getting to that.

   “What’s also weird is that for each of the incidents, there’s a pathologist’s report as well as the ME’s. Which is normal I guess, but this particular pathologist only deals with homicide— so if they’re just animal attacks, why is homicide working it? And how the hell would a fucking bear get into a penthouse?”

   “Jesus,” Peter sighed.

   “I know.”

   Peter looked across to Ned with a concerned expression on his face, silently asking ‘what the hell do we do now?’. Ned looked away for a moment, his brow furrowing even more, if that was possible.

   “Also, there’s one another thing you’re probably not gonna like,” he said.

   “I already don’t like this whole situation, so I don’t see how it can get any worse,” Peter sighed.

   “This is like in the movies, when they’re like ‘oh, it’s already bad enough, how much worse can it get?’ and then it cuts to the character in a situation that is infinitely worse.”

   “What is your point, Ned?”

   “My point, Peter,” he muttered, looking like the last thing he wanted to do was tell his best friend what as going on. “Is that you and I both know the first thing to do in this situation is to go to heart of it and raid the police system to find information.”

   “Yeah, we always do that,” Peter said, confused. “What’s so bad, then?”

   “The precinct in the centre of all… whatever this is, and the precinct that happens to be in charge, is the 114th.”

   “Oh, shit.”

   “I told you you weren’t gonna like it,” Ned sighed, shaking his head.

   Perfect.

   This was just what he needed. The 114th police precinct just happened to be his least favourite for one reason and one reason only. It was Captain George Stacy’s precinct. And that would have been fine and dandy if it hadn’t been for the other thing.

   Peter had broken his daughter’s heart, and the police Captain was never going to let it go.

   Things were just getting better and better for him, huh?

   “We’re going tonight,” Peter declared, standing and putting his books back in his bags.

   “Whoa,” Ned said. “Really? What about your injuries?”

   “I’m fine,” he insisted, watching as Ned packed up as well. “Besides you said it yourself; this is only the info grab.”

   Ned regarded him for a moment, his eyes squinted as he looked at his friend with suspicion. He sighed then, standing as well and gesturing toward the entrance of the dining hall.

   “Okay, then,” he said, resigned to Peter’s determination. “It’s your call.”

   Man, was this going to suck.


	5. five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ugh not happy with this one at all... might just rewrite the whole damn thing later  
> update: i rewrote it lmao

   There weren’t a lot of things that George hated.

   Despite his rather irritated and occasionally aggressive demeanour (which he attributed to his perpetually annoyed facial expression), he actually did manage to find the good in almost everything. He definitely didn’t look like it, but he’d consider himself a ‘silver lining’ kind of man. Though in his line of work, he didn’t find many of those, unfortunately.

   There was one thing, however, that he hated more than anything else, especially in his workplace.

   And that was secrecy.

   There was definitely something going on, and it most certainly wasn’t any form of ‘animal attacks’, which was what the public relations office told all the precincts to claim the recent accidents were. Apparently it had come from their higher-ups, so there was next to nothing anyone could do about it, but it didn’t mean the captain had to like it.

   Something was just not right about the whole thing. And although his precinct was at the heart of where the incidents began to occur and he’d been placed in charge of the investigation, there was an increasing feeling of ‘no, that can’t be’ whenever he thought about the whole situation.

   Rubbing his temples, he let out a sigh, looking at the pile of paperwork on his desk that he’d yet to sort through after the most recent… ‘accident’. Although the perpetrator of these crimes (if ‘perpetrator’ was even close to an adequate word) didn’t have a distinguishable modus operandi, George had a creeping suspicion of the type of people they were going after. When Alan Montgomery was found dead in his home by his cleaning staff, eviscerated in a way all too similar to the previous victims, the captain was almost disappointed in himself. He should have known the wealthy connoisseur be a target. Pulling him from his thoughts, the knock at his office door was a welcome change from the deafening silence he’d been sitting in for the past couple of hours, and he called for whoever it was to come in.

   “Sorry to disturb you, sir, I know you’re busy.”

   With a timid grin, the new receptionist stood in the doorway with her hands clutched in front of her chest. It was still Lisa’s first month, and she hadn’t fully gotten used to her position.

   “No worries,” the captain said. “What do you need?”

   “Commissioner Johnston is on line three?” she told him, though the upturn in    her tone at the end made it sound more like a question. “It sounded pretty urgent.”

   “Thank you,” he smiled softly. “I’ll answer in a moment.”

   Lisa nodded quickly and ducked out of the office door, her red ponytail whipping around as she shut it behind her. George sighed, knowing just what he was in for as he reached for the receiver sitting to the right of his desk. He paused just before he grabbed it, his hand suspended in the air above it. He took a deep breath, and then picked up the receiver, pressing the button for the third line next to the blinking red hold light.

   “This is Captain George Stacy.” He tried to sound as professional as he could, despite the ever growing concern he was afraid would come through in his voice.

   “Captain Stacy, Commissioner Johnston.” A gruff, monotonous voice that he knew far better than he would have liked to greeted him. “I trust you’re doing well?”

“As well as I can be, sir,” George replied, repressing his sigh. “I’m sure you’re aware of how the investigation is going thus far.”

   “Ah, yes, well that’s why I called,” the commissioner explained. There was something in his voice that George couldn’t quite place. It was something akin to irritation or annoyance, but then again the commissioner was never a very expressive person. “I’ve already contacted the other precincts involved to inform them, but I will need you and the detectives you have working the cases to come to an impromptu meeting here at headquarters.”

   “Of course, sir. When would you like us to be there?”

   “It would be best if you arrived as soon as you could,” Johnston said. There it was again, that… something. He was frustrated. “There is a sudden need to discuss the new— the complexity of the investigation.”

   George was silent for a moment as he took in the unspoken words that passed between them. “I understand.”

   “Good. When you arrive, Deputy Commissioner Gardner will be there to escort you.”

   “Of course. I’ll see you shortly, then.”

   “Thank you.”

   Even after he’d hung up the phone, he sat there for a moment wondering just what could be so important that the commissioner had called him personally— and called everyone else. That man’s job was a busy one, and he didn’t exactly have the time to be personally invested in what all the precincts were up to. But at the same time, this was a rather unconventional situation in many ways.

   He decided there was nothing to be done. Not yet, anyway.

   Standing from his desk, he smoothed the creases of his uniform jacket and stepped out into the bullpen. The familiar ambient chatter of the officers and detectives, multiple phones ringing at once and the odd shout from someone who’d been detained was almost comforting to the captain. The precinct was his second home.

   “Lisa, I have a meeting with the Commissioner at headquarters,” he informed her as he passed her desk. “While I’m away, anything that would have come to me goes to Sergeant—”

   “Hughes, yes,” Lisa interrupted with a smile, her freckled face glowing with pride at the fact that she’d remembered. “She’s in charge while you’re away. I remember.”

   “Excellent. If it’s urgent, though, you can call my cell.”

   “Have a safe trip, sir.”

   As he passed by the desks throughout the floor, he called to the two detectives he had placed on the investigation.

   “Flores, Crawford— let’s go.”

   He didn’t even have to turn to see the smile on Detective Crawford’s face as she grabbed her jacket and slung her badge around her neck.

   “Oh Hell yeah, field trip!” she exclaimed. “Where we goin’,  _capitan_?”

   “Headquarters,” he informed her, pressing the button next to the elevator that would take them down to their small parking garage. “Everyone working the recent cases was called for a meeting with the Commissioner.”

   “Are we in trouble?” Flores questioned from behind him. He sounded almost frightened.

   “I doubt it; you’ve both done an excellent job so far.”

   They clambered into the elevator, and although the air around the captain was almost buzzing with nerves, he could feel the excited energy radiating off the young female detective in the car with them.

   “Man, I haven’t been up there in a while,” she said. “Can we take my car?”

   “No,” George deadpanned. The last time he rode in her car she almost killed them both and the runaway suspect they were chasing. He wouldn’t be caught dead in that car, which was exactly how he suspected he’d end up if he took her up on the offer.

   “You’re no fun.”

   “Have you met him?” Flores joked.

   When they reached the garage, they all got in to the captain’s sedan and, following Flores and Crawford’s childish dispute for who got to ride shotgun (why were they working the case again?), the three of them set off en route to One Police Plaza.

   They were, however, entirely unaware of the masked web-slinger swinging in the air a short distance away, following close behind.

 

* * *

 

   “Ned, I can’t hear anything.”

   “That’s not my problem. Why don’t you ask Karen since you love her so much?”

   With a roll of his eyes, Peter sighed, “Karen, can you get me ears on that conversation?”

   The cheerful, polite voice in his suit he’d grown accustomed to over the past five years responded in an automated chirp almost instantly.

   “I apologize, Peter, but that conversation is outside the maximum distance for my receivers.”

   “This is ridiculo— Ned are you eating?!”

   “Yeah,” Ned replied, voice muffled and full of whatever he was snacking on. “I’m eating the granola bars you hide under your bed. Total rookie move, by the way, that’s the first place anyone would look. Consider it my revenge.”

   Peter almost slipped off the lamppost he was perched on as he scrambled to reply to Ned.

   “Hey! Don’t eat too many of those or you’ll get sick. And stop going through my stuff!”

   “Calm down, I was only gonna have one anyway,” Ned said in annoyance. “I’ve been stuck in your room for a while and I got hungry. You can’t blame me, especially when you buy the ones that are really good. These things are like crack.”

   With a huff at his best friend’s attitude, Peter pressed two fingers to his temple next to the edge of his mask lenses, zooming in his heads-up display on a window almost two blocks away.

   He could clearly see Captain Stacy and the two detectives that he’d brought with him from the precinct along with him in a small conference room on the eighth floor of the police headquarters. They and a few others, who Peter could only assume were other captains and detectives from different precincts based on their uniforms (or lack thereof in the detective’s cases), were seated at a long rectangular table, the Deputy Police Commissioner sitting next to the head of the table, which remained empty. All of them were talking amongst themselves, but without being able to hear them, there was little Peter could infer as he watched them speak. He wasn’t exactly the best at reading lips.

   Just then, Commissioner Johnston (with whom Spider-Man had had a few unfortunate run-ins in the past) entered the room and stood at the head of the table. He addressed the group, before sitting with them.

   “Oh my God, Ned, we’re wasting time!” Peter exclaimed. He was growing frustrated. “Can you do something? Please?!”

   All of this would have been avoided if Peter had just kept his mouth shut on the way to the Civic Centre.

   He’d made an offhand remark about how Karen (so, in other words, Stark’s suit tech) was the most useful thing he’d ever had as Spider-Man. Ned happened to take personal offence to this. But wouldn’t anyone if they’d stayed up countless nights developing new software systems for their best friend’s suit, constructing helpful gadget bots to accompany him as he did his thing, and overall just putting up with the stress that came with having a best friend like Peter who endangered himself every day?

   Ned had argued, calling Peter a ‘meanie-butt’ as if they were twelve again, and refusing to help him with the task at hand. And, stupidly, Peter’s had but a simple “fine,” in response.

   Big mistake.

   “You know, if you were still dating Gwen, you wouldn’t even have to—”

   “Yes, well, I’m not anymore, so I can’t,” Peter interrupted. His brow furrowed as he angrily recalled how his last relationship ended.

   “Jeez, sorry,” Ned said sarcastically, mouth still full of food and voice sounding distorted by the comm system. “I’m just saying.”

   “Instead of saying shit like that, can you at least try to help me, please?”

   “Hm, okay.” Peter felt himself relax finally at Ned’s agreement. “But only if you admit that you wouldn’t be where you are without me.”

   “What?”

   “And promise me you won’t replace me with Karen.”

   “Ned you’re being ridiculous.”

   “Maybe I should go over to Y/N’s, then,” he said, and Peter could hear him get up from the desk chair as if he were about to leave. “She’d probably be better company than you right now.”

   “Alright!” Peter sighed, bringing a palm up over his masked face. “I promise.”

   Whatever would make him help, right?

   “Was that so hard?”

   Gritting his teeth at Ned’s stubbornness (even thought that was one of the reasons they worked so well together), Peter decided to try his best at deciphering what the commissioner was saying as his best friend’s typing sounded through the comm line. He wondered just how Ned was planning to help him hear what they were saying. It had been a while since he’d tinkered with technology, taking more interest in the chemical and biological aspects of science.

   “What’s taking so long?” Peter asked, but he didn’t mean for it to sound as harsh as it did.

   “Hey, stop complaining,” Ned replied. “It’s not my fault you broke Droney ‘cause you’re lazy.”

   “In my defence, I was sick.”

   “Sure,” Ned replied, dragging out the word in sarcasm.

   Peter remembered that day with distaste, the day he’d been bed-ridden and had to miss all of his classes because he stayed out too long in the rain the night before and he’d caught a cold. Ned, feeling bad for him and being the great friend he was, bought him pizza from his favourite parlour and brought it to the dorm for him.

   But Ned had been running late for his next lecture and Peter was too exhausted to go down and get the pizza, so he instructed Ned to stand below his window. He’d slapped on his suit’s mask and made the small spider drone go get it.

   He learned the hard way that Droney wasn’t exactly designed to do heavy lifting.

   “I feel kinda bad, though. Poor little guy.”

   “If he’s dead it’s your fault for not getting your ass outta bed.”

   “He’s not dead! You can fix him, right?” Peter asked, his worries coming through in his tone.

   “Of course I can, who do you think I am?” Ned scoffed. “But what would you rather I do first: fix Droney or get you ears in that room?”

   Peter found it best to shut up in that moment.

   He listened as Ned continued to type up a storm, probably running some code through one of his many programs. At long last he explained what he was doing.

   “You’re lucky your suit gets good cell reception. I managed to intercept a call from the commissioner’s cellphone and re-route the radio transmission right to your suit.”

   “Who’s he calling?” Peter asked

   “Me! Well actually, no one, really. Because the phone’s connected to the wifi in the building, I was able to turn it on remotely and then override the calling system. So it’s just transmitting what the mic picks up and not receiving any waves from a connecting call. Meaning, we can hear him but he can’t hear us.”

   “You’re a genius.”

   “Tell that to Professor Howard. The highest mark he’s ever given me is an eighty-six.”

   Peter waited impatiently as Ned worked his magic. He had a point thought; he almost certainly never would have gotten anywhere near where he was in life without Ned by his side. He owed so much to him.

   “Okay,” Ned muttered. “Patching us through… now.”

   “—and it is imperative that you treat this meeting with the utmost confidentiality.”

   They caught on the end of the commissioner’s sentence, his tone low and serious. Peter watched as Captain Stacy shuffled in his seat, the rest of the people in the room nodding.

   “Good. Now, I suppose there’s no point dawdling so I’ll get straight to the point,” Johnston went on. “It is no surprise to me that you all are having trouble with this investigation. Even the city’s best detectives can’t seem to profile the perpetrator. And yes, I should clear it up— the ‘animal attacks’ were just a ruse. We fully believe there is a person behind these deaths.”

   One of the detectives Captain Stacy had brought with him, the woman, nudged her partner to the left of her and muttered, “Told ‘ya.”

   Peter snickered as their captain shot her a sharp look.

   “I have been asked by the mayor to inform you of the intricacy of this situation. As much as the public relations office has tried to keep it out of the spotlight of the media, it has been hard to stop public speculation. Unfortunately, they haven’t been entirely off the mark.”

   Peter’s eyes widened as he listened to the commissioner explains what exactly had happened.

   The murdered men (who they could now say with certainty were murdered) had all had some sort of criminal affiliation in their past. But all of their wrongdoings, however, had been covered up, whether it was by dirty cops, by lawyers, or by their own personal security teams. There was a hint in his tone that Peter didn’t recognize, but it had the men and women in the conference room wide eyed and shocked. It appeared they’d all been part of some sort of organized crime, and by that he most likely meant the mob.

   The first one to come to mind for Peter was, of course, the Maggia. Considering the confrontation he had with Hammerhead a couple days prior, it was no surprise to him that something had been going on.

   But it would seem that it was an outsider who was now coming in and wreaking havoc. He went on to explain that they believed he was ‘wiping out the competition’, planning an active takeover of all organized crime in the city.  

   Captain Stacy stood then, after the Commissioner had finished explaining.

   “Sir, if you don’t mind,” he began.

   The commissioner nodded for him to continue.

   “Well, with the recent rise in ‘superheros’ and people with extraordinary powers, strength, abilities and the like… it wouldn’t be too ludicrous to assume that this perp might also have one or more of those aspects.”

   The look on the commissioner’s face was one of utter irritation.

   “Stacy,” he said. “Are you suggesting that this is another mutant, ‘super villain’ thing?”

   “In short, yes.”

   “Then I would have to say that yes, it would be too ludicrous.”

   The captain’s brows furrowed in concern at Johnston’s response. “Sir—”

   “Captain Stacy, I know you’ve had your problems in the past with people like that, and truly, you have my condolences for the incident with Dr. Connors— it was very fortunate that… the wall-crawler saved your life.” Johnston said (Peter smirked at the reference; he’d forgotten how adamant the commissioner was about refusing to say the word ‘Spider-Man’). “But you cannot possibly be suggesting that this is another instance of that.”

   “I’m afraid I am, sir,” Stacy said, looking serious. “With the way the victims were killed and all factors considered, I don’t think that would be too far off.”

   “If it really was something like that,” Johnston went on, looking angrier by the second. “Wouldn’t those so-called Avengers already be taking care of it? It would be in their line of work, would it not?”

   “What if they’re not aware that this is serious in that way?”

   “Captain Stacy, I am sorry, but I’m afraid that that is enough.”

   Peter noticed the way the captain’s jaw clenched as he took his seat again, looking down at his hands balled into fists in his lap.

   “Anybody else have any ridiculous suggestions?” the deputy commissioner asked. He looked around at the table. They all avoided eye contact with him.

   All of a sudden, Karen switched the heads-up display in his suit monitor to infrared, changing Peter’s view and focusing on the figures outlined in red that were approaching the room.

   “There appear to be four unknown persons approaching,” she informed him.

   “Run a facial recognition through police records once they’re in eyesight,” Peter instructed.

   It turned out, however, that that would be unnecessary.

   The four men entered the room, each of them neatly dressed in black suits. The commissioner looked at them quizzically, as if he wasn’t expecting them. With a smile, the one if front introduced the group.

   “Hello,” he said. “Sorry to intrude on this meeting but we were hoping to speak to Commissioner Johnston.”

   “And who exactly are you?” the commissioner asked.

   “We’re from S.H.I.E.L.D.” the man replied, a pleased grin on his face.

   At this, the commissioner’s eyes widened, and he looked at the rest of the group. “I think I’m going to have to cut this meeting short. Deputy Commissioner Gardner, if you could escort them out.”

   There were confused looks on the faces of the people in the room as the deputy commissioner ushered them out of the door. Even he looked back at Johnston with a confused look in his face, mouthing ‘who are these guys?’ as he stepped out of the room.

   Johnston could do nothing but shake his head.

   When the room was empty save for the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and the commissioner, Johnston turned to them with a tight lipped frown.

   “Gentlemen,” he began. “What can I help you with?”

   “We couldn’t help but overhear what Captain Stacy mentioned to you earlier,” one of them said. Peter frowned. They hadn’t even been close to the room when Stacy had mentioned mutated villains. Had they bugged the rooms? Or done something similar to Ned?

   “We’re sad to have to burst your bubble, but he may be right.”

   The look of utter confusion on the commissioner’s face brought a smile to Peter’s. If there was anything he like more than stopping crime, it was messing with ol’ stick-in-the-mud Johnston. Just the fact that these agents were basically telling ‘you’re wrong’ made him laugh.

   “We thought that you should be made aware of a not-so recent development that might help with the investigation.”

   “I’m open to suggestions,” Johnston sighed, crossing his arms over his chest.

   “Two months ago, during September, there was a break in at Oscorp Industries. Nothing serious was stolen, but we do know that Oscorp is responsible for the incident with Dr. Curtis Connors. We have decided to step in just to ensure nothing like that happens again.”

   “You’ve got to be— why weren’t the police informed of that break in?” Johnston questioned, frustrated.

   “Mr. Osborn preferred to keep it under wraps, so to speak,” the agent said.

   The commissioner sighed deeply, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked at the agents standing before him and jerked his head toward the entrance. “Meet me in my office.”

   He left the room, grumbling the whole time about stupid, muddling agents and their stupid organizations. The agents were muttering amongst themselves, but since the commissioner had left and took his phone with him, Peter couldn’t hear what they were saying.

   “Ned—” Peter began, but was cut off as his best friend had already got a head start on what he was about to ask him.

   “On it,” he said, the familiar clack of his keyboard ringing in the comm line. “They bugged the room. I don’t know where it is exactly, but it’s wireless. I can tap into it for you.”

   “What would I do without you?”

   “Oh,  _now_  you appreciate me. Suck my dick, Parker, you’re such a kiss-ass.”

  “Anything for you,” Peter singsonged, knowing it’d get under Ned’s skin.

   “I hate you.”

   “Yes, that’s why you put up with me.”

   “I regret everything.”

   Peter laughed to himself, adjusting his position on the lamppost. It was a motion sensor light, and so far no one had walked on the sidewalk underneath it so he was completely hidden in the evening darkness. He gripped the edge of the metal, his fingers adhering and securing his grip.

   “Okay, we should have audio….” Ned muttered.

   A crackling sound was heard through the line, before the distorted audio cleared itself up. The agents were discussing something and it sounded important.

   “We can’t let the police get suspicious,” the one who’d done all of the talking (Peter assumed he was their leader or at least the agent in charge) said. “Under no circumstances are you to disclose any information to them without consulting me first.”

   “Sir, what about the break-in suspect?” another asked.

   “He’s being dealt with,” the agent in charge said. “He was hospitalized for some time because of a stab wound he received after the fact. It appears two sources were after the vial.  There was a witness to that incident but he seemed to know nothing of the theft. He was just walking home from his job.”

   “Has Mr. Osborn told us what was in the vial?”

   “No, he still chooses to keep that to himself,” he sighed. “But knowing him it can’t be anything good. If it were to get into the wrong hands who knows what could happen. But I fear that it already has, given the recent incidents. But remember, we are here to oversee, not to interfere. Only step in if someone gets too suspicious or starts making crazy assumptions. We still need to let them do their jobs.”

   “Yes, sir.”

   As they stepped out of the room, Peter heard Ned whistle into his ear.

   “Well, well, well,” he said. “Weird substance from Oscorp that can’t be let into the wrong hands? Is this what they call deja vu?”

   “We don’t know for sure that that’s what it is,” Peter said. “That could have nothing to do with it.”

   “How much do you want to bet that it has everything to do with it?” Ned laughed. “I’m in for a hundred.”

   “I’m not taking that bet.”

   “Oh yeah, because you know that I’m right. Just admit it.”

   Peter shook his head, watching in infrared as all five men gathered in Commissioner Johnston’s office a few floors below. They were probably feeding him a load of bullshit. There was no point in being there any longer.

   “Okay, I’m heading back,” Peter announced, shooting a web towards a building above him and pulling himself up through the air.

   “Sweet, now I get to sleep,” Ned sighed, and for dramatic effect, added a yawn. “You know thanks to you, my sleeping schedule went to shit.”

   “You realize I don’t have a sleeping schedule, right?” Peter laughed. He had to raise his voice so that ned could hear him over the sound of the cars passing below him.

   “Yeah, but you’re you.” He sounded farther away. Peter could only assume he’d gotten up from the desk and moved to the bed as he usually did. “You’re Spider-Man, and whatever.”

   “And whatever,” Peter repeated with a laugh.

   Sure, he was Spider-Man. 

   No big deal.

 

* * *

 

   He never expected the moment of hesitation that came with arriving at his building.

   After coming down from the high arch off the building next to it, he rolled softly onto the roof and landed in a crouch. Standing and stretching, his mind suddenly recalled the first time he’d laid eyes on Y/N and the circumstances under which they had met, and he stilled.

   She’d been in the common room, fast asleep with a book on her lap an expression so full of peace and tranquility, it had made Peter almost envious. How he’d wished to be able to sleep like that.

   He’d stood there in the hallway, all bloody and broken, leaning against the wall and just admiring her. He realized after the fact that it was probably very creepy to have done that and had to resist the urge to physically hit his head against a wall in embarrassment, but in the moment he’d just been staring. She was so open and honest like that. There was even a little bit of drool hanging from the corner of her lips, which made Peter grin to himself.

   He must have gotten too distracted, because his grip loosened for only a moment, causing him to almost fall and shout in pain, which was what ended up waking her.

   He remembered the look of absolute horror on her face when she saw the state he was in.

   And then, as an afterthought, he recalled the look of worry on her face when she asked if it was a thing that he did on a daily basis. Which left him wondering… was she waiting for him?

   That was how Peter once again found himself tugging his backpack free from the webs on the brick wall of the alley, though this time he was (mostly) uninjured. In the darkness, he stripped off his suit and tugged on a loose pair of jeans and one of his old Midtown Tech crewnecks, hurriedly stuffing the red and blue material into the bag. He’d remembered to pack shoes this time.

   His heart pounded as his stomach sank with the rise of the elevator car. He hadn’t even planned ahead yet, hadn’t thought of what he would actually do if she was in fact waiting for him. But what would he do if she wasn’t?

   Holding his breath as he stepped out onto the sixth floor, he couldn’t recognize the feeling in his gut as he saw the outlining of Y/N’s frame curled into a corner of the couch. Was it relief? Was it anxiety? Or was it something completely different? Whatever it was, there was something in him that made his hands shake as he stepped toward the common room.

   She must have heard his footsteps, because she whipped her head around toward him with a wide eyed, worried expression.

   She looked so cozy. Her elbow was propped on one of the arms of the couch, her chin resting on her fist.

   Peter was aware of her gaze raking him up and down, looking at his body and checking for a limp or other signs of injury. When it seemed she found none, the tension in her shoulders released and she let out a sigh. She smiled softly at him through the glass.

   He must have been feeling exceptionally brave, because honestly there was nothing that could have possessed him to actually enter the common room if he had been in his right mind. His throat felt dry and his hands still hadn’t stopped shaking.

   Maybe this was a bad idea.

   “Hey,” he muttered. It felt appropriate for his voice to be soft as it was already quit late and dark outside, even thought he was sure that it wouldn’t have made a difference if he’d been a little louder. “What are you doing up? It’s late.”

   Y/N’s smile fell for a moment as she looked away, and even in the dim light (because she hadn’t bothered to turn on the ceiling light and was sitting only next to a lamp) he could see the way her cheeks took on a rosy hue.

   “I was…” she began, looking out the window. “I— I couldn’t sleep.”

   The hairs at the back of Peter’s neck stood on end as they usually did when someone wasn’t telling him the truth. But what reason did she have to lie to him?

   “Yeah?” he asked. This was awkward, to say the least.

   “Yeah,” she replied. “It’s better than my room, I guess.”

   He stood there for a moment longer, the tension between them so thick you couldn’t get through it with a hatchet if you tried, before he breathed in sharply through his nose and took a plunge he never thought he’d take.

   “Do you wanna…  take a walk with me?” he asked, jerking his thumb back toward the elevator. “I wanna show you something. And it might tire you out some more so you can sleep when you get back.”

   There was hesitation in her expression.

   He should have expected it. After all, she did think he was a criminal. He held his breath once again as she regarded him with a scrutinizing expression, deciding on her response.

   “Okay,” she said finally. “I just gotta go to my room and grab a sweater.”

   “Y-yeah, sure.”

   Peter almost couldn’t believe she’d agreed to go with him as he waited for her in the common room to return with her sweater. He probably should have grabbed a jacket too, but was too shell-shocked to really think about just how cold he’d get on their walk.

   It was still crazy to think about.

   She was going on a walk with him. At night. After she’d waited up for him. Of course, she hadn’t admitted to it and she could very well have been telling the truth about not being able to sleep, but Peter wanted to believe that she cared about him even a little the same way he cared about her.

   He spotted her in the hall in front of the elevator, waving at him to follow. Peter scrambled out of the glass doors and met her halfway, standing in front of the silver elevator doors as she pressed the button to go down.

   “You okay?” she asked.

   “Yeah, fine,” he muttered, looking at his shoes. “You?”

   “I’m great.”

   He glanced up at her then, and he swore his heart nearly stopped.

   She was looking at the elevator doors as they opened, the softest, most genuine smile on her lips that he’d ever seen. He looked at her wide eyed as she stepped inside the car. She was still grinning.

   “Come on, then,” she said. It felt like Peter’s feet were cemented to the floor underneath him. He couldn’t move.

   But when she tilted her head at him in confusion, a lopsided grin on her lips at his strange attitude, he managed to will himself forward.

   “Let’s go.”

   Yeah. Let’s.


	6. six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jinkies.... this is so sweet i got a damn toothache
> 
> night walks with peter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IMPORTANT!** if you haven't already please reread the end of chapter 5!! i rewrote it because i was super unsatisfied with it. otherwise u might be confused. carry on.
> 
> BONUS CONTENT HERE: playlist and moodboard for this chapter (will link once its up on tumblr)

   It would always surprise her just how alive a big city could be at night.

   Although it was late and the weather was anything but welcoming as thick grey clouds rolled overhead, a looming threat of rain within their heavy folds, Y/N was shocked to see just how many people were out on the street and all the businesses that were open during that hour. The sounds of traffic, people shouting in the distance, dogs barking up ahead and even the odd siren or two were all around them. Sometimes she forgot that even as she slept, the world around her remained busy.

   Peter walked along beside her, hands balled into fists and stuffed into the back pockets of his jeans to keep them warm. He’d had the chance to get himself a jacket while she had gone to her room to grab a sweater, but when she returned to the hallway she found him standing in the exact same position she’d left him in, completely frozen.

   He’d acted a little bit weird as they left the building, too.

   But Peter seemed alright now, his steps steady and the breaths that came from his parted lips in small puffs no longer stuttering and shaking. Y/N wondered briefly if he was nervous, but then brushed the thought away. What reason did he have to be nervous around her?

   They walked together in silence; the only sounds exchanged between them were their light footfalls on the sidewalk and the occasional cough from the cold.

   It wasn’t terribly awkward, but Y/N had the feeling that Peter had something he wanted to say. She noticed the way he worried at his bottom lip with his teeth when she turned to look at him, as if he was trying to physically bite words back. He’d been the one to ask her to come with him. If anything, she was the one who should have been nervous.

   “What made you decide to come to New York?”

   The question caught her off guard, and her steps halted for a moment before they fell in time next to Peter’s again. She glanced up at him to find him gazing over at her in return, a small smile on his lips.

   “You mentioned how you weren’t from around here,” he said, turning back to face in front of him again. “I was just wondering… why New York?”

   “Actually,” Y/N replied. “The answer to that is kinda simple and it’s probably not that interesting.”

   “I still wanna hear it.”

   Blinking at him, she tucked a loose strand of hair that had fallen back behind her ear.

   “Well, uh… my cousin moved out here when I was, like, eight and whenever she’d come home to visit she’d always talk about how great New York was and how much fun she was having here,” she said. “She has a really great job in marketing for this huge company, and she met her husband out here and she just seemed really happy. We’re from a small town so her life in the big city was a really big dream of mine. I guess I just wanted what she had.”

   That was mostly true. The fact that her cousin would arrive at her home every Thanksgiving with new stories of the Big Apple and her daily adventure—stories that she told and retold until she left well after the New Year—was one of the main reasons Y/N chose New York when her parents allowed her to study out of state. Her older cousin had been her role model for as long as she could remember, and there was nothing she wanted more than to be just like her. She’d share every aspect of her life with Y/N as they sat in her room watching cartoons on cold December mornings, detailing just how big the city actually was and how it was so unique and unlike anything she’d ever seen. Y/N vividly remembered her cousin once saying how one could walk down the same street one hundred times and notice something new about it each time. She’d show her pictures of her apartment, of Central Park, of her and her friends going out to dinner, of her throwing up a peace sign in front of Avengers Tower…  
And frankly it had made Y/N jealous. But only a little.

   “Do you like it here?” Peter asked.

   She looked down at her shoes, brows furrowing in thought. “Yeah, for the most part.”

   Peter laughed nervously at that. “What does _that_ mean?”

   “Honestly? I don’t really know, myself,” she replied with a smile. “I don’t think I’ve spent enough time here to fully appreciate it. But I’ve got time. I still have the rest of this year, and then another two until I finish my BA. And even then I might stay for Grad school. So I guess I’m not in a rush.”

   Peter fell silent again as he nodded in agreement, but once again there was that air around him that gave off the impression that he wanted to say something more. He pressed his lips together into a thin line as he looked down. Y/N swallowed as she watched his brows pull in toward his nose, and decided to break him from his thoughts before he drove himself mad.

   “What about you?” she asked. “Have you lived here your whole life?”

   He smiled at her, and glanced up at the street ahead of them. “Yeah, is it that easy to tell?”

   Y/N shook her head. “More like an educated guess.”

   “Well, you guessed right,” he laughed. “I’ve lived in Queens for as long as I can remember. My aunt May still lives in the same apartment where I grew up, and at this point I think she always will.”

   “Do _you_ like it here?” Y/N asked, parroting his question to her back to him.

   His teeth gleamed in the streetlights as he grinned widely at her. It was one of those smiles that not only took over one’s face but their body as well. His shoulders pushed down and he stretched his neck up slightly, his chest moving forward as he looked around him, thinking about his answer. She couldn’t help but notice the way his nose bunched up when he smiled like that.

   “Of course I do,” he said. “This city is home. So much has happened here that I don’t think I’d ever be able to live anywhere else. It’s too important to me.”

   Y/N nodded, looking out ahead of them. “Yeah, I think I get what you mean.”

   The night air hugged her frame in a chilly embrace, and she tugged her sweater tighter around herself. Peter seemed fine in the cold; the only evidence that it wasn’t affecting Y/N alone was the reddening of the tip of his nose and the tops of his ears. The motion sensor street lights flickered on before them, lighting up their path on the dark road. She wasn’t sure where they were going but she’d follow Peter’s lead.

   Glancing around at the brick apartment buildings on all sides of them, she noticed a couple standing on the steps in front of one of the doors. The girl looked like she’d been freezing, shivering as her partner wrapped his scarf around her neck. Judging by his lack of outerwear, Y/N could only assume that the olive green bomber jacket the girl clutched to her body had been his. She watched them, entranced as they looked at each other underneath the yellow porch light, and her eyes grew wide as the man tugged lightly on the ends of the scarf and pulled the girl into a kiss.

   Y/N looked away, her cheeks burning. She felt bad that she’d witnessed such an intimate moment between the two of them. Those kids of things were usually private.

   She glanced up at Peter then, wondering if he’d seen it too, but he was still watching as his feet made contact with the pavement beneath them.

   It was probably better that he hadn’t, anyway.

   When she looked back up toward the building she’d seen the couple standing in front of, the cream coloured door was closing shut behind them.

   “So, what’s your favourite part of New York?” Peter asked.

   The question once again caught her off guard. She’d never been really good at small talk, but then again, what had she been expecting going out at night with him? They weren’t just going to walk together in silence. They’d only known each other around three days so it was only logical that Peter would try and get to know her better if they were to continue meeting up to study.

   “Ah…” she muttered, not quite sure how to respond. “I don’t really know.”

   “Oh, come on,” Peter smiled. She glanced up to meet his gaze and immediately regretted it. Her face was way too warm. “There has to be something.”

   “To tell you the truth, I haven’t really gotten out much in the year I’ve been here,” Y/N explained. “I’ve been to, like, all the big landmarks and tourist-y places, I guess. I spent New Year’s with my cousin and her family, and we went out to Times Square and everything. Her kids were not having it and they were exhausted by nine, but we had fun. And I’ve been to the public library and Central Park and all the important ones. But I don’t think I’ve seen enough of the city to pick a favourite part.”

   “Really?”

   The look on Peter’s face was hard to describe. It was an expression somewhere between bewilderment and excitement. His brows were furrowed in confusion but the smile gracing his features betrayed his true feelings.

   “What?”

   “You mean to tell me you’ve been here for over a year,” he said, throwing his head back to look at the night sky as he spoke. He looked back down at her then, the confusion gone from his face and replaced with a teasing smile etched into his cheeks. “And you haven’t even… experienced the city?”

   “I’ve experie—”

   “No, hang on, I don’t mean the stuff that comes up on the Google search results for New York,” he interrupted. “I mean the real NYC.”

   Y/N stared at him quizzically. “I don’t know what you mean.”

   “Okay, how do I put this?” he began. “Just use your hometown as an example. No matter how small it is I’m sure there’s some sort of, like… image it gives to people who aren’t from there, right?”

   “I suppose.”

   “Right. New York also has an image but it’s really polished and clean— or it’s the exact opposite and people think this is a city overrun with criminals or whatever. What’s your stance on that, by the way?”

   “Undecided,” Y/N said.

   Peter shrugged.

   “Fair enough. But my point is that there’s probably a lot more to your hometown than that image, whether it’s good or bad. Same thing for New York.”

   “Okay,” Y/N nodded. “Such as?”

   Peter paused then, taking one of his hands out his pocket and grabbing his chin in thought. He pondered it for a moment, scratching at the fading remnants of a scab from his injuries with his index finger, before he snapped his fingers and jumped in front of her, walking backwards so he was able to face her as they talked.

   “The food,” he said. “Nothing beats the food here. Sure, the ritzy five star restaurants with their two hundred dollar entrees are great and all, but you haven’t tasted New York until you’ve had real street food or some especially greasy pizza and gotten horrible stomach cramps from it.”

   “That sounds like Hell,” Y/N laughed.

   She didn’t laugh at the premise of the statement—that much she understood—but instead it was at how happy he was when he said it. The smile on his face was one she hadn’t seen before.

   “It is,” Peter grinned, showing off his teeth again. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way. But if street food’s not your thing, there’s other stuff.”

   “Like what?”

   Peter’s steps slowed until he was walking next to her once again. He ran a hand through his hair and Y/N had to remind herself that this was definitely not the time to be thinking about how fluffy it was.

   “Like… _Delmar’s_ ,” he said. “Best sandwiches in Queens, depending on who you ask, but whoever says otherwise is definitely wrong. I used to save up my lunch money and go there every day after school before—”

   The pause was abrupt. It was enough to cause Peter to almost halt his movements altogether, but he quickly recovered and fell back in time.

   “Before what?” Y/N asked.

   Peter looked at her, blinking. He seemed worried.

   “Before… I left for my internship.”

   “Oh, cool. Where’d you intern at?”

   “Uh,” Peter muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he spoke. Y/N had noticed that this was something he did when he was nervous or embarrassed. She found it endearing. “Stark Industries.”

   “That must have been fun,” she replied.

   Peter was giving her an odd sort of look. Of course there were questions she had; how did he get that internship? How long did he intern for? Did he know Tony Stark personally? Had he met any Avengers? These, among many more, were circulating through her mind as she looked at him.

   But his eyes were almost pleading, begging her not to ask any questions. He was obviously uncomfortable, and if there was one thing that Y/N prided herself on, it was her ability to pick up on social cues and body language. It saved her from many an awkward situation.

   So instead of pressing the matter, instead she asked, “So what else? I thought you were giving me examples.”

   His eyes went large as he realized she wasn’t going to ask him any questions about it, and he smiled softly in silent thanks.

   “Okay so I said food.”

   “Yeah.”

   “...You know what,” he said. “There’s just so many different things— I don’t think I can categorize them.”

   “Just list them, then,” Y/N offered, burying her face into the collar of her sweater so the last word of her sentence were muffled slightly. It was getting colder by the second.

   “Okay.”

   Peter looked up at the grey clouds, his brow furrowing as he wondered where to start and his hands went back into his pockets.

   “There’s this laundromat on Robinson street that we used to go to before May bought a washing machine for the apartment. I’d sit on top of the dryer as a kid while we waited because it was warm, but I ended up falling off of it once and that was when I broke my first bone. The owner had to drive us to the hospital because May’s car was in the shop and ambulance rides are expensive. She still brings it up every time we see her, but she’s nice about it.

   “Also, I know you said you’ve been to Central Park but you probably didn’t even see the best part of it.”

   “Which is?”

   “There’s a little pond on the east side of the park,” he said, gesturing with a hand. “It’s kind of hidden behind a bunch of trees so it’s super secluded, but the birds like it because it’s clean water, and you can sit there and watch them wash their feathers for hours. Ned and I used to go bird watching there when his mom would take us to the park on weekends, but there were usually only pigeons and one family of ducks. Oh God, when Ned found out that you aren’t supposed to feed ducks bread, he cried for like half an hour. He felt so bad.”

   “How old were you guys?” Y/N inquired. She knew Ned was the sentimental, emotional type but she couldn’t picture him crying over ducks.

   “I think it was in fourth grade. So pretty little, I guess.

   “Oh, speaking of Ned, there’s one specific comic store that he likes to shop at. Never goes anywhere else, which is fine I guess. But you have to go through, like, four alleys to get to it and it only carries the super vintage stuff that I’m not so into anymore but Ned is crazy about. He drags me with him every time he goes, though. I’d probably be able to find it with my eyes closed.

   “And five or so blocks away, I think, there’s a diner,” he said. “And it’s without a doubt the best part of the whole city.”

   Y/N raised her eyebrows as she turned to look at him, wondering what it was about that specific location that deserved so much praise.

   “Oh yeah?” she asked, and he nodded in return. “How so?”

   “Well, for starters, they have the best milkshakes and the sweetest apple pie—in the best way, of course—in all of Manhattan; dare I say all of New York. It’s owned by one of my uncle’s army buddies. They were in Iraq together before he took me in, and when they got back, he decided he’d rather spend the rest of his life flipping burgers and baking pies than shooting at people. And he’s pretty damn good at it, too.

   “Anyway, May and my uncle Ben would take me at least twice a week so I basically lived there. There’s pictures of our two families all over the place— Ben’s personal favourite was one where I’m getting pied in the face on my thirteenth birthday by the owner’s oldest son. I picked pastry out of my braces for two days afterward but it was fun.”

   The whole time he spoke, Y/N found herself enraptured at the way his eyes glinted under the orange streetlights. She laughed softly at the thought of a young Peter celebrating his birthday with his family in a small diner, showing off his braces as he grinned broadly. She figured he’d have been an adorable child. Maybe he wore glasses, too. He looked like the type.

   But as he told her about this important place from his childhood, his cheeks glowed a soft pink, and Y/N was sure it had nothing to do with the cold. He smiled widely as he told her all these little details that at any other time of day would probably have been too personal, but there was something about the darkness and the late hour that made it so much easier to talk. Everything seemed more open at night, and there wasn’t that heavy weight on one’s conscience when they wanted to share something.

   She may have attributed it to the time of day, but there was also no denying that talking to Peter was just… easy.

   “I haven’t been there in a while, though,” he added softly, his smile faltering.

   “Why’s that?” Y/N asked. She was concerned at how quickly his demeanour flipped.

   He glanced at her with a sad expression, his eyebrows soft as a thin-lipped smile replaced the wide grin he’d had just moments before.

   “May and I stopped going after Ben died,” he said softly, his smile only growing regretful as he watched the shocked look on Y/N’s face develop. “I think it’s hard for her since that was his favourite place. But I’d like to go back one of these days.”

   When she said nothing, Peter brought a hand through his hair once again.

   “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up,” he sighed. “I made it awkward again.”

   “No, it’s okay,” Y/N stammered, gesturing with her hands for him to stop fussing. “I should be the one apologizing.”

   “You didn’t know,” he said. “Besides, it was a few years ago.”

   They fell into silence once again, though this time it was that much more uncomfortable. The heavy topic of the conversation suddenly weighed down the air between them, and she felt as though she could no longer decipher what he was thinking about. It was almost as it there was a heavy blanket over the two of them, obscuring him from sight and pressing their thoughts full of uneasiness.

   She thought it would be better if she changed the subject. Or, at least, somewhat changed it.

   “You said the diner was close by, right?” Y/N asked, her tone of voice higher than it should have been. Was it too obvious that she was doing this on purpose?

   “Yeah, a few blocks that way,” Peter replied. He pointed with his hand to their left, where the busier main street lay bustling with moving cars. The street they were currently on remained somewhat calm.

   “Maybe we can go together one day,” she offered. “You can show me all those pictures and I’ll give you my honest opinion on that pie.”

   Perhaps she should have thought about what she was saying before she said it. The look Peter gave her immediately made her regret it.

   His eyes were wide, his nose and cheeks flushing crimson as he turned to her, startled.

   “Y-yeah,” he stammered. “Yeah we can do that. I’ll take you.”

   It only occurred to her well after she’d gone back to her dorm and was sitting in her bed that night that her offer had sounded awfully like a date. Because… that’s a thing that people do on dates, right? Go out and eat? She didn’t have much experience with stuff like that because she’d never even had a boyfriend before, but she was certain that that had been why Peter seemed so flustered. But there was time to worry about that later.

   If she had to break the silence one more time, she was going to lose her mind.

   “So what is it you wanted to show me?” she asked, recalling the reason that she was out with Peter on that cold night in the first place.

   “Oh, it’s a surprise.”

   Peter hadn’t looked at her when he replied, but she could almost hear the smile on his lips as he spoke.

   “Is it very far?”

   “We’re almost there, don’t worry,” he assured her. “I saw it on my way back today and it looked like it was just about done. I’m hoping it will be when we get there.”

   As they continued walking in silence, she noticed that they’d been walking in the direction of the park. She must have been too distracted to have caught on at first, but now that they walked along the road, she knew that if they turned the corner at the end of the street, they’d be right in front of the park.

   She wasn’t surprised when Peter led her around that corner.

   What did surprise her, however, were the lights.

   “Oh, wow,” she gasped.

   There were Christmas lights on almost every single tree in the park, along the railing around the border of it and the fountain in the centre was lit up and red and green. From the distance, the whole park was sparkling. It looked absolutely beautiful. It reminded her of home, when her neighbourhood would decorate the trees along their street with lights and hang tinsel from the lampposts. There weren’t a lot of trees in the city and most of the residences were apartment buildings so she hadn’t seen many lights yet. But this was on a whole other level.

   “Really feels like Christmas now, huh?” Peter remarked, crossing his arms over his chest with a smile as they walked toward the park.

   “It’s November,” Y/N laughed.

   “Eh, late November.”

   “Thanksgiving is next week.”

   “Yeah, but it’s still Christmas.”

   “Sure.”

   She decided to just give in, though she never understood why people decided to being celebrating the holiday as early as the first day of November. But Peter definitely looked to be the type of person who would put on an ugly, scratchy Christmas sweater at midnight the day after Halloween. He was beaming so widely, his smile was almost brighter than the lights.

   As they approached, Y/N noticed the way the yellow hue of each little bulb made his hair and skin glow. She swallowed, her throat dry.

   “You have to admit it’s pretty though, right?” he insisted.

   “Yeah, I’ll give you that,” she agreed, nodding. “It was worth the walk.”

   They entered the park, noticing a few other people out and about in the dark, admiring the lights. Each of them wrapped up in scarves and with toques on their heads, noses bright red as they smiled at the person next to them.

   That was one other thing she noticed as they walked between the trees.

   Everyone there was in a pair. It was a park full of couples.

   “Hey, speaking of Thanksgiving,” Peter said, once again rubbing the back of his neck.  “Ned, our other friend MJ, and I were gonna hang out that day since we don’t have classes. We were either gonna go to Ned’s mom’s or to May’s place and have dinner. Did you maybe wanna… come with us? It’s okay if you wanna be with your cousin’s family instead— I get that it might be awkward around our families since you’ve only known me a few days and you haven’t even met MJ, but you’ve known Ned a year I guess, so maybe we _should_ go to his parents’ house so it’s not too bad for yo—”

   “Peter,” Y/N interrupted.

   As endearing as the boy’s rambling had been, he was going to drive himself crazy.

   “Huh?—oh. Sorry.” He smiled sheepishly at her as he realized what he was doing.

   “It’s fine,” she smiled. “And I’d love to go with you.”

   “O-oh, awesome. Ned will be happy.”

   Was Peter also happy? Y/N couldn’t tell.

   “And if you want to go to your aunt’s then that’s fine,” she added. “Don’t worry about me. And from what I’ve heard about MJ from Ned, I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.”

   “O-okay,” Peter stammered. “It’s settled then. I’ll let the other two know.”

   Y/N shivered then, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. She thought she’d be okay with her sweater, but as the night grew longer, it also grew colder.

   “Should we head back? It’s getting colder,” she said.

   “Yeah,” Peter agreed, beginning to turn. “Sorry for dragging you out here.”

   “Hey, if I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be,” Y/N grinned. “Besides, I said it was worth the walk, didn’t I?”

   It was far more comfortable to walk back to their building than it had been to walk to the park. Y/N felt as if she knew a lot more about Peter now than she had that afternoon, and it was better for her. Slowly but surely, she was beginning to trust him more and more. Maybe one day he’d trust her enough in return to tell her just what it was that he did every night. Her curiosity was beginning to get the better of her, but there was something else there too.

   She looked down at her shoes as she thought about the scenario that had led to the both of them walking down 7th Ave together at well past 10 PM.

   She’d been worried about him. She was never going to admit it to herself, but why else had she been sitting in the common room waiting for him to come back? The entire time she was there, she thought about the first time she’d seen him… the state he was in. It was awful to think about. She didn’t want him to turn up again like that. And when he did turn up finally, after hours of waiting and worrying, he looked fine. Healthy. Completely unscathed, and the flood of relief that flowed through her when she saw him was foreign to her. It wasn’t like her to be so concerned about people she had just met. But there was also the possibility that Peter was endangering himself on a daily basis.

   So she worried.

   But in a friendly, concerned way. Nothing more.

   “Oh shit.”

   Y/N glanced up abruptly at Peter’s exclamation, only to find him grinning at the sky. He turned to look at her, a smile akin to that of child’s who’d just been told they were going to Disneyland spread across his lips.

   “It’s snowing,” he said.

   And it was.

   It took her a moment to notice it but when she did, she took in the gentle falling of the tiny white specks of snow as they descended from the clouds. It didn’t surprise her that it was snowing; it was definitely cold enough.

   “Okay, I take back what I said,” she laughed, holding out a hand. A single snowflake, small as the head of a pin, landed on her palm and melted within seconds. “ _Now_ it’s Christmas.”

   Peter looked ridiculous as he opened his mouth wide and stuck out his tongue, throwing his head back as he laughed and tried to catch one. Y/N laughed along with him, shaking her head at his antics.

   “Now we can really get festive,” he said.

   She noticed the way the snowflakes caught in his soft brown hair as he spun around to try and catch more, a couple landing on his cheeks. They looked like white freckles before the melted into his skin. He was, for lack of a better word, pretty.

   “C’mon,” Y/N smiled, jerking her head in the direction of their building. “We gotta get back before you get sick.”

   “Even if  I did get sick, Ned would take care of me,” he grinned.

   “Then we’d better hurry for Ned’s sake,” she smiled, walking off.

   The sound of Peter’s laughter behind her was followed by his quick jogging to catch up, and he grinned down at her as he fell back in time, a puff of breath escaping his lips in a soft cloud of vapour.

   At least she could blame the way her cheeks were reddening on the cold, now.

   Otherwise… it might have been awkward.

   As if it hadn’t already. 

 


	7. seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait ahgsfhjagsfha enjoy this

   It was far, far too cold out to be swinging through the bone-chilling air in nothing but a skin-tight superhero suit and the boxers Peter had on underneath. 

   If the snow that fell in faint flurries around him wasn’t bad enough, then the bite of the wind against his body as he zipped through the air was a bit overkill in his opinion. His fingers were going numb around the webbing he gripped in his fist and his thighs were doing that weird tingly thing that happens when they’ve been cold for too long. It felt like they were falling asleep but it also kind of hurt. It was far from pleasant. This was yet another instance in which he was eternally grateful for Mr. Stark putting that heater in his suit because without it he was pretty sure he’d already have developed a bad case of hypothermia. 

   Coming down from the arch of his last swing, he perched himself carefully on the top of a flagpole that came diagonally out from a building, his adhesive feet allowing him to grip the softball-sized metal ball on the top of it with ease. Shaking his arms out and flexing his fingers, he eased the cramping of the muscles that often occurred after he’d been gripping a web for too long. As he sat there switching out his web cartridges, he watched as a child on the street below him caught one of the empty ones as it fell.

   He looked up at Peter with a pleased shriek of happiness, the boy’s giggle coming through his words as he shouted, “Hi, Spider-Man!”

   Peter grinned in the mask, holding up a hand and waving at the young boy below him. The boy’s mother crouched beside him, saying something in his ear and holding his hand as they both waved back. 

   If anyone asked him, he would definitely have said that that was the best part of the whole ‘being a superhero’ thing; the happiness he brought people. The comfort that they could live in knowing he was keeping them safe. It was incomparable. 

   Peter saluted the pair below them, before shooting a web at the building across from him and launching himself into the air once again. He could hear the boy’s laugh behind him as he swung away. He smiled to himself.

   “That was nice,” Karen said. “I’ve archived it with the rest.”

   “Awesome,” he grinned. 

   A few months back, he’d decided to make use of the fact that Karen could record the things he saw, and asked her to save his favourite moments for when he was feeling upset. It definitely helped to cheer him up. Those few days when he was sick, he sat in bed with a box of pizza with his mask on (pulled up over his mouth though—he still needed to eat) and watching a few selected clips. His favourite was when a little girl had spotted him in Central Park, scurrying up to him while her mother tried to stop her, and presented Peter with a small flower she’d picked on the way over to him. He’d sat there on his bed, watching on his suit’s display as she grinned between missing teeth all over again, and he took the flower from her and thanked her. He hadn’t been expecting for her to throw herself into his arms and cling to him, her pigtails tickling his neck through the suit, but he laughed happily as he carried her back to her mother and handed her off. The woman apologized for disturbing him, but he waved it off, giving the little girl a high five before he swung off again.

   That little encounter had been all over Twitter for the next week. Sometimes he forgot just how many, uh… fangirls he had. 

   But it was all worth it.

   He still had the flower pressed into one of his chemistry textbooks.

   It had been a pretty uneventful day so far, apart from the fact that it had started snowing again and he’d almost slipped off multiple rooftops. For someone with sticky limbs, he was really doing a bad job at using them. Well, as uneventful as it could be for Peter when he was doing his rounds.

   He’d stopped a couple robberies already, saved a man from being mugged, and even pulled a frightened cat out of where it’d gotten stuck on a fire escape. You know, normal Spidey things. But he was really hoping for something fun to come his way, something that would make being out on that incredibly cold day worth his suffering. He had no classes on that day, Y/N was busy in the library so they couldn’t meet up to study, Ned was either in a lab or busy working on his assignments, and MJ was working on her biggest painting yet that she was supposed to submit in place of her midterm exam… basically, everyone had a life. So Peter decided it would be a perfect moment to do his rounds. 

   Except for the fact that the day had turned out to be incredibly boring. And cold. Very boring and cold. 

   As he swung by a few buildings, the receivers on his suit were able to pick up voices coming from a secluded area behind them. As curious as ever, he pulled himself up and over the roof of the building, free falling down on the other side. He caught himself on the fire escape, careful not to alert the men below him of his presence. In the alley-like area where the back sides of three buildings faced each other, Peter peered down at the group of five men standing around a black sedan, another identical one parked a few feet away.

   If that didn’t scream ‘suspicious’, he didn’t know what would. 

   The snow drifted down softly around them as they huddled near the trunk, the flakes still too small and thin to stick properly. They all wore thick, heavy jackets to protect themselves from the cold, a few even with black toques on their presumably bald heads. They were, essentially, the poster children for ‘dangerous thugs’. Karen took the liberty of running facial recognition on all of the men facing toward him. 

   “They’re all convicted felons,” she informed him. A collection of file icons gathered in the top right corner of the display, names popping up next to the boxes around their faces as Karen pulled their records. “Would you like me to scan their persons?”

   “Please,” Peter muttered, still worried they might spot him.

   He watched as the outlines of handguns appeared in blue along their waistlines, almost every single one of the men there armed, bar one or two. Well. There was nothing better than the threat of getting shot.

   With his mind already made up to intercept whatever obviously illegal activity this gang of goons were up to, he latched a web onto the railing of the fire escape and gripped it with both hands and feet as he descended slowly behind them upside down. They still hadn’t noticed him (which was surprising because his suit colours tended to stand out; maybe they were just  _ that  _ dumb). Just as he was about to reach their level, still about six feet off the ground, one of the thugs opened the trunk of the car.

   “Vinny was supposed to be here ten minutes ago,” a gruff voice muttered in a thick, almost too stereotypical ‘New Yorker’ drawl. “If he doesn’t show up, I swear I’ll kill him. Does he know how risky it is to just be out here with all this shit? We’re like sitting ducks.”

   “I told him, Frankie. Three-thirty, I told him.”

   “Well, he’s late. And that makes us late, so you do the math, dipshit.”

   Peter almost laughed out loud.

   Inside the trunk (oh, this was just  _ too _ good), were perfectly packaged bricks of white powder wrapped in plastic. Drug deals were his absolute favourite bust. There had to be at least fifty of those bricks, and whoever put them there clearly crammed as many of them into the boot of the car as they could. They looked like they were about to burst.

   Lowering himself until he was just about eye-level with the shortest one, still upside down, Peter cleared his throat.

   “You know,” he said, watching as the men whirled around in surprise. “When people say they’re dreaming of a ‘white Christmas’, I don’t think that’s exactly what they mean.”

   “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” one of them (Frankie, if his memory served him correctly) shouted. “Do something! Kill him!”

   Peter allowed himself to drop to the ground, landing in a crouch on the balls of his feet. As a particularly burly thug charged at him, he dodged the oncoming collision by moving to his right. The assailant whirled past him, and he pivoted on his feet and used one of the many gadgets embedded into his web shooters (thank you, Ned) to plaster the guy to the wall of the building behind him with a large net of webbing. Peter’s nerves began firing rapidly, the back of his neck tingling, alerting him of someone approaching from behind him. He jumped into the air, flipping over top of the second thug, before allowing him to meet the same fate as his buddy. 

   “Don’t let him get in the air!” came a shout.

   He turned quickly, spotting the other three men with their pistols drawn and pointed directly at him. Peter, acting quickly, used both web shooters to latch onto two of the guns, disarming his opponents. He flung them over his head like a lasso, tossing the weapons to the other end of the alley.

   The offenders growled in frustration and began barrelling toward him.

   “Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Peter said, the sarcastic tone prevalent in his voice. “Can’t we resolve this by using our words? You know, like normal, law-abiding citizens?”

   Peter felt a tickle on his neck, his ear twitching in warning. He jerked his head to the left, watching as the bullet he narrowly dodged whizzed past his face before he even heard the shot go off.

   Turning to look at the only thug who still had a gun, the eyes of his mask went wide in mock surprise.

   “Oh. Right.”

   He caught one of the men running at him and threw him up into the air, shooting a web at him and pulling it down hard. He landed on top of the other one, knocking them both down like dominos with resulting sharp groans. There was only one left, and he still had that gun.

   Peter dodged another bullet and disarmed the man the same way he had done the others, but this time knocking the pistol against his nose for good measure. He caught the gun in the opposite hand, clicking the magazine out in one swift movement.

   “I’ve always hated guns,” he sighed, tossing both pieces in opposite directions. “There are so many more elegant ways to go about things. Like this.”

   With a quick push, Peter turned and hit the man in the chin with his foot as he bicycle kicked him, flipping and landing in a crouch with his fingers to the floor.

   “Now I’m just showing off,” he laughed. 

   He quickly went about webbing the disoriented assailants to various surfaces, laying a couple on the ground, and the other stuck to a wall. He clapped his hands together, admiring his handiwork, and turned to the car they’d all busied themselves with earlier.

   “Now then,” he said to himself. “What’s all this about?”

   He approached cautiously, fully knowing it might have been rigged, and used the scanner in his suit to determine the substance in the packages. Although, he didn’t really need to. Everyone and their dog knew that those were bricks of pure cocaine. But better safe than sorry, he always said.

   As the display in his suit confirmed his suspicions, one of the thugs that he’d left conscious started to yell.

   “You just fuckin’ wait, you spider asshole!” he shouted. “Once the boss finds out, you’re as good as dead! He’s gonna tear you to shre—”

   “Oh, shut up,” Peter groaned, extending an arm behind him and webbing the man’s mouth shut without even turning around. 

   Circling around the car slowly, he peered into the windows. In the backseat, obscured by the tinted glass, were two metal crates. He scanned its contents, eyes widening in surprise when he saw them chock full of military grade weapons. He was more than confused now.

   Peter stepped over to the felon whose mouth he’d just webbed over, still squirming on the ground in his web cocoon like a caterpillar, and crouched down before him, resting on the balls of his feet.

   “Frankie, right?” he asked, recalling the conversation he’d had with the other earlier. “I’m gonna take this off now but you gotta be good for Spidey, okay?”

   The man did nothing more than grunt.

   Tilting his palm toward Frankie’s mouth, Peter used the solvent spray he kept for emergencies on the patch of white on his face, softening the webs until he was able to peel them back.

   Immediately, the thug went to spit in his face. Or mask, he supposed.

   “Hey now, what’d I say?” Peter asked, turning slightly so the projectile missed him. “That’s not very nice.”

   “Fuck you,” Frankie said through gritted teeth.

   Peter gripped Frankie’s chin between his fingers, tilting his face side to side and observing his features. He was rough and rugged, his five o’clock shadow scratching against Peter’s fingers through the suit, and his short dark hair was cropped military style. His dark eyes, hooded by equally dark, angry eyebrows, gleamed with malice and his teeth were bared fiercely, the off white colour smeared red with blood from his busted lip. He looked almost too much like a criminal. It was kind of funny.

   Peter smirked, one eye of his mask widening as he raised an eyebrow.

   “Maybe if you weren’t a criminal,” he said, releasing Frankie’s chin and letting his head hit the ground. “But I’m afraid we’re just too incompatible.” 

   Frankie cursed loudly, his eyes shutting as his head smacked the pavement loudly. 

   “You were using some pretty brave words, earlier,” Peter went on, tilting his head curiously as his eyes narrowed and he rested his elbows on his knees, hands balled into fists under his chin. “Who exactly do you work for, anyway? I’d like to know what I’m in for when your boss comes after me.”

   “Heh,” Frankie laughed mirthlessly. “I thought Spider-Man would be smarter than to mess with Nefaria’s guys.”

   Peter’s eyes widened, recognizing the familiar name of one of the Maggia crime families, though more importantly, the name of a man he’d fought before on multiple occasions.

   “As if I’m scared of The Count,” Peter scoffed. “I already told him to go back to  _ Sesame Street _ . Many times. But you’ve piqued my interest now; I’ve heard the Maggia’s had a little trouble lately. Your pal Hammerhead’s all worked up over it. That why you guys moving your goodies?”

   Frankie leaned to the left, spitting out blood mixed with saliva on the ground next to him. Peter grimaced. 

   “What’s it to you?” he asked, voiced grating. “Ain’t you trying to take us down, too? Thought you’d be on the same side as that freak.”

   “You wound me,” Peter said sarcastically, holding a hand to his chest. “Actually no, you don’t; pretty sure I’m doing all the wounding here. But you should know, killing’s not really my… thing. Especially not like that.”

   “Doesn’t matter anyway,” Frankie smiled. “Hammerhead’s comin’ after you as soon as he’s done with that freak show who’s been fuckin’ up our business. He’s got a special place on his mantel just for your head.”

   “I really hate it when the families work together,” Peter groaned, standing from his crouching position. “More trouble for me.”

   “I’ve alerted the nearest police precinct of our whereabouts,” Karen informed him. “Officers are en route.”

   “Good news, though,” Peter told Frankie, turning and walking away from him. “Your ride’s on its way. It’ll be the one with the flashing red and blue lights.”

   As he jumped from the ground, bracing himself against the outer wall of the building, he heard Frankie call after him, shouting from below.

   “You’re gonna regret goin’ after him!” he yelled. “He’s like nothin’ you’ve ever seen before!”

   Peter turned, trying to mask the concern in his voice as he replied.

   “Oh, I don’t doubt it.”

 

* * *

 

 

   In Y/N’s opinion, there was nothing better than curling onto the small window seat in her dorm in her softest sweater, watching the snowfall and coat the park her room face in its sugary flakes as she read her favourite book and sipped some tea. Her copy of  _ The Shining _ had been given to her by her mother twelve years prior, and she’d read it about a hundred times since then. The cover was bent in multiple places, the binding wearing thin from all the folding, but she thought it gave the novel character. 

   It was already dark outside, but the snow reflected the orange glow of the city lights like nothing else, so she still had enough reading light provided she was right next to the window. That and the lights that lit up Washington Square Park only a couple blocks away gave washed her in a warm glow to counteract the chill of the snow.

   There was just one small thing wrong with that particular situation.

   “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

   Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, closing the book and pressing it to her forehead before she took a breath. She loved Ned —really, she did—but that didn’t mean she couldn’t get annoyed at him for being very vocal about his opinions on the plot of whatever comic he was reading.

   “Ned,” she sighed. “Could you keep it down? I’m trying to read.”

   “Oh, shit, yeah sorry,” he muttered. She heard him adjust his position on her bed, probably wrap the blanket her grandmother had made for her before she went off to university that he loved so much (“It’s just so soft, Y/N,” he’d said. “Feels like I’m wrapped in a cloud. Or cuddling a sheep. I love sheep.”), and cleared his throat. “What’cha reading, anyways?”

   Turning to him, she came to terms with the fact that she probably wasn’t going to get any more reading done that evening and closed the book, setting it down next to her. She’d been right—Ned was wrapped from head to toe in the blue blanket. He held it tightly around his chin with one hand, and his open comic book in the other. She smiled fondly at him.

   “Guess.”

   “Oh, come on,” he groaned. “You know I’m bad at that.”

   “Okay, I’ll give you a hint,” she smiled. “I’ve already read it.”

   “That gives me absolutely nothing. Just tell me.”

   Y/N laughed. “I’m reading The Shining.”

   “Again?” he asked. Ned slipped the blanket off his head but still held it around his shoulders, revealing his ruined bed hair. Y/N had seen pictures of him in high school when it had been longer, but she felt the shorter style suited him more. It was still fluffy on the top, just shorter on the sides, and she liked mussing it up with her hands to mess with him. “What is this, like, the three millionth time?”

   “What? It’s my favourite for a reason.”

   “If you say so.”

   They sat in silence for a moment, Y/N taking the interruption as an opportunity to stretch her limbs out, her shoulders popping deliciously as her cramped up joints were given room to breathe. When she looked back at Ned, he was looking at her curiously, brows furrowed and with an expression that made him look like he was deep in thought. 

   “Okay,” she said, raising her mug of tea to her lips. “What is it? Come on, spit it out.”

   “How do you feel about Peter asking you out?”

   Turns out she’d be the one who’d end up spitting.

   Her nasal cavity stung, eyes watering as the tea she was in the middle of taking a sip of travelled up the wrong canal and almost came out her nose. She coughed and sputtered furiously, trying to get the remnants of liquid out of places they were not supposed to be as she set her mug down on the windowsill.

   “ _ What? _ ”

   “You know, I almost couldn’t believe he actually got the guts to do it,” Ned went on, as if nothing had happened. He stood and stretched as well, absentmindedly picking up one of the stuffed bears Y/N kept on her bed and bending its ears between his fingers. “Peter’s like a child when it comes to girls. He still uses the word crush, can you believe that? He’s a literal baby.”

   “Ned, what are you talking about?” she asked, still trying to catch her breath. “Peter didn’t- he never… look, what gives you that idea?”

   “Ohhh,” he smirked. “Oh, I see.”

   Y/N furrowed her brows, not liking how cryptic Ned was being one bit. She watched as he opened her mini-fridge, identical to the one in every other dorm room, and took out an apple juice box.

   “Dude, I love you, but you’re fucking oblivious,” he laughed. “For an English major who’s supposed to be observant or whatever, anyway.”

   “Okay, I’m lost.” She laughed, but it sounded more like a noise of confusion, as she shook her head. “You still haven’t told me what you’re talking about.”

   “Thanksgiving.”

   “Okay… what about it?”

   Ned stuck the small straw into the juice box and took a sip, not break eye contact with Y/N as he wiggled his eyebrows at her.

   At this, her eyes widened. 

   Oh. Oh,  _ shit _ .

   “Ned, that wasn’t- listen he- he didn’t-”

   “Oh, but he did,” he said, taking a seat on the end of her bed and poking her softly with his sock-clad foot. “When he told me he asked you to come, I was shocked. Don’t look at me like that, that’s not what I mean. I mean I was shocked that he’s the one that asked you. Believe me, I was planning on it, but Pete beat me to the punch.”

   “So why is that a big deal?”

   “I’ve known the kid since we were ten, and in all my years of putting up with his shit, I’ve never once seen him open up to someone or accept them as a friend as quickly as he did with you.” He furrowed his brows then, tilting his head. “Actually, nevermind that’s a lie. There was one other person, but… that’s not the point. My point is he totally likes you.”

   “Yeah,” Y/N said. “Likes me as a tutor. I’m helping him not get kicked out of school, of course he’d like me for that.”

   “Not only are you oblivious, but you’re dense, too. I thought you were smart.”

   “Thank you, I try.”

   Ned shook his head, getting up from her bed and tossing the now empty juice box into the little recycling bin next to her door. “Whatever, dude. You’re both hopeless.”

   Just as he was about to sit back down onto her bed and pick up where he left off in his comic, his phone chimed loudly in his back pocket. As he reached for it and read the notification, Y/N watch the progression of his facial expression as it went from happy, then confused, and finally rested on deep concern. He scrambled to put his shoes back on, hopping around on one foot and reaching for his backpack at the same time. 

   “Uh,” Y/N asked. “What’s up?”

   “It’s Peter,” Ned replied, throwing his hoodie over a shoulder. “I gotta go.”

   Y/N almost physically felt the blood drain from her face as her skin took on a ghostly pallor at the news. What if he was in trouble? He could have gotten hurt again doing God knows what. Maybe Ned did know about what Peter liked to do after hours. 

   “I-is he okay?” 

   Ned must have heard the concern in her voice before he met her eyes, because he gave her a soft smile and a sigh. 

   “Yeah, yeah I’m sure he’s fine,” he reassured her. “But he needs me, like, right now. I’m sorry to bail like this.”

   “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Just… text me, yeah? Let me know if anything’s wrong?”

   If she hadn’t been paying close attention to Ned as he stuck half his body out of her door, she would have missed the knowing smile that crossed his expression before he replied. 

   “Of course. See ya later, Y/N.”

   And with that he was gone.

   Y/N turned to her tea, now going cold as it sat in the chill of the wind that seeped in through the window. She brought the mug to her lips, looking through the glass and watching the people on the street below her, but quickly set it back down as she found herself unable to stomach anything. She was lucky to have gotten a room with a view of the streets and the park rather than the alley that lay behind the building. But even the sugar frosted trees and the lights that made them sparkle like diamonds were not enough to brighten her mood.

   She felt her gut fall heavy with the familiar feeling of dread.

   It was a feeling that she was getting more and more accustomed to as the days went on. That night about three days prior, when she’d been waiting for Peter to return before he’d taken her to see the aforementioned lights, she’d spent the evening worrying about him. She didn’t think it was weird, something like being worried about a friend, but then again, she didn’t even know if he considered her a friend. 

   Sure, they had a mutual friend. But that was about it.

   It wasn’t weird to worry about his safety when she barely knew him… right?

   Tucking her earbuds in, she turned back to the book she’d previously abandoned to try to take her mind off of things. 

   And it definitely was not because she didn’t want even the slightest chance of missing Ned’s text when or if he decided to update her.

   Of course not. And she’d continue to tell herself that for the rest of the night. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> here is the masterpost on [tumblr](https://raspberryparker.tumblr.com/post/179427234664/someday-series-collegeau-spidey-x-femreader)  
> if you prefer reading there
> 
> visit the tumblr masterlist for moodboards, the series playlist, and more info!  
> (also smash that follow over there and support ya girl thanks)  
> \- gabi


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